Epitaph
by jakey121
Summary: 'We live in a cruel world. A world that kills children. A world that's fuelled on the blood of our innocents. It's Panem. And it's wrong.' The 20th Hunger Games. Written with Cashmere67.
1. Prologue Part One

**Chapter One.**

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><p><strong>Epitaph;<br>The 20****th**** Hunger Games.**

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><p><strong>Prologue Part One.<strong>

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><p><strong>Allano Sinclair, 40, Gravedigger;<br>jakey121.  
><strong>

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><p>We're told to keep going, no matter what.<p>

When our backs are sore, our arms are tired, our eyes popping out of our skulls from exertion, the authority demands more graves. Because, what never runs out in a country like Panem, a never-ending tidal wave of supplies for our business, the fuel for corruption: dead bodies. The corpses of innocents.

District Eleven is the place to be if you're into graveyards. I'm not. My family never has been – what started off years ago as a way to help the war effort, it's now become something the Sinclair family is known as. We aid the newly departed into the next world. We help the grieving families who have nowhere else to go, because who else will look after them?

Panem is a snake's nest. The President a viper. He casts young boys and girls to their tombs. I do the dirty work of supporting it, because I have to. There is nothing on this earth that will let me condemn an innocent to be left on the streets to rot.

I pay the price of spending my entire life helping the deceased, aiding them to the next step. My best friends are dead bodies. I'm nothing but a slave to a country that wants us all gone and buried.

Ironic, considering.

"You shouldn't be out in this heat." My wife Parenna takes my hand softly, bringing it to her lips. Her touch is tender, but I pull my hand from her grasp, shaking the sweat and grime from my forehead.

"I have to…" I dig another hole, sifting the sun-baked dirt from the ground. "They're… coming back. We have to be ready."

"They may not be able to afford a funeral."

"Then I'll pay for it," I grunt as I dig, dig, _dig. _This is my life. I am building the bridge between tragedy and peace for those who have nowhere to turn. "They died for nothing. I'm giving them something, they deserve it. They're _kids._"

I feel her fingers touch my arm, delicately. Like she's scared she'll set me off. It's another reason why I hate this, why I hate what the Capitol does to me, because my anger has never felt more real. Never felt so much like it's building into something I can't control.

"We have kids of our own. They want their father."

I shake her off again. Her touch makes me feel sick. It reminds me I have more love for strangers than I do for my wife. Because being with the dead has taken something from me, taken a spark from my life and left me rotting in a shell.

"I have to do this. They will get the peace they deserve. They'll be remembered. I can't just… let them die, forgotten."

"They were in the Hunger Games. They'll be remembered."

I snort, running a hand through my short, greying hair. The sun has left my head red-raw. I wince when I touch it and pull back, gritting my teeth as I dig into the hole even more, heaving dirt over my shoulder.

"They'll be remembered as a statistic. A number. District Eleven had a boy and girl last year. What were their names, the Capitol sure won't know next time the Games come round." I pause, looking at her in a way that tells her I'm right. I am. I know I am. We all know the truth, she's just doing this for our children, I know. I don't blame her. But pretending it doesn't exist fuels the Capitol's ego, and I'll be damned if I can just let it go.

Not after what I've seen. Coffins no taller than my waist. Where twelve year olds are stored and buried under heaps of dirt, left to rot. But remembered. That's the most important thing. Even though they're dead, I'm helping their memories.

Keeping their names intact. Giving them their identity from beyond the grave. I do this because of my kids, no one understands. I do it because I see them in every small body hoisted down in the cold dirt. It's the greatest pain a father can feel – knowing I can't save them from everything.

I'm helpless.

"Just don't hurt yourself. I worry Allano. You're my husband, I respect what you do, because I know someone has to do it. But still, this life, it isn't a life."

"They get a place to rest in peace." I stare at her, cold-faced. "You better get yourself ready. Their families will want to organise the funeral. We need you at the front desk."

My wife mumbles something, but nods, bowing her head and turning to leave me to my work. Guilt plagues me, along with everything else I feel, a constant swarm that leaves me breathless and tired. Beyond the pain I feel for my work, there's something else that contaminates me and my family. A burden. But a burden I want. I just wish I could make a difference in a way that meant I wouldn't be digging these graves.

A way to put an end to these poor innocents being left in the ground. It's not right… it's not _right._

I dig again, then again, and again and again. Dirt piles into a heap with a blank tombstone lying on its back. If they can afford it, it will be inscribed. If they can't, I'll pay for it myself. No matter what, these tombs, this little boy and the older girl, will get a name to their grave.

Once it's finished, I brush the dirt off my hands and face, looking up at the sun. It beats down like it wants to scorch the land in a never-ending summer. I raise a hand to my eyes and squint, in the distance, I see a black car arrive with a cheap coffin.

If the family could afford the coffin, they can afford the funeral. I've seen the Capitol dump the bodies in plastic wrappings.

It makes me sick.

Before I leave, I take one last look at the grave, big enough, but not too big. Another part of our trade revolves around the Capitol relaying the measurements of the tributes in advance, just in case. They think it's a kindness, speeding up the process.

Like they're giving me something? I look away, feeling a tear come, but knowing it will never fall. I haven't cried in so long. I won't cry again.

I just know, that somehow, in some way, something needs to happen. This grave isn't meant for an elderly man or woman who lived a life, a full, happy life. It's meant for a thirteen year old boy who lost whatever potential they had for the entertainment of the Capitol.

We live in a cruel world.

A world that kills children.

A word that's fuelled on the blood of our innocents.

It's Panem.

And it's wrong.

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><p><strong>So, hello there one and all.<strong>

**Another SYOT? What? What about Flesh and Blood :O Yeah don't worry, I'm writing literally a chapter a day for that, so I have time on my hands, and this isn't just me. This is done with my dear pal, cherished friend, and beautiful fellow writer, Cashmere67.**

**Just don't call him Cash. Call him Teddy.**

**As with all new stories, everything you need is on my profile. The form. The deadline. Guidelines. Number of males/females. Basically everything, so definitely check that out or you can't really submit, I guess. Yeah, you need a form to make a tribute.**

**I hope to see some great submissions, so have fun with it and I'll see you (or Teddy will see you) with the next chapter!**


	2. Prologue Part Two

**Chapter Two.**

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><p><strong>Epitaph;<br>The 20****th**** Hunger Games.**

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><p><strong>Prologue Part Two.<strong>

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><p><strong>Neila Trellaine, 18, District One Victor of the 18<strong>**th**** Hunger Games;  
>Cashmere67.<strong>

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><p><em>Maira Trellaine.<em>

The words are engraved in the wood of the coffin, written in cursive. Gently, I pick up the cloth that's covering her face, pulling it downwards. It reveals her face, the delicate features for some reason looking dimmer, as if they lost that shine my sister had always possessed.

She's not the girl that I remember. The one that volunteered to follow in me and my mother's footsteps.

She's now the girl that died.

The one who failed us.

To pay their respects, a man steps forward, bowing his head and kneeling down on one knee. As he shakes his head, his lip trembles as he murmurs to himself.

"She was so beautiful," the man says, standing up from his knee. I don't recall seeing him before, but from what his appearance, I can tell he's from the Training Academy. "How could this have happened?"

"It was her fault," I say, snorting. "Don't feel bad."

The man looks at me, his face in complete shock. He shakes his head, bows his head, and steps away from the coffin. He proceeds down the stairs, whispering something to himself as he walks down the aisle.

That must have been one of her trainers, then.

He can be blamed, too.

He's the one who failed to train her properly. Who failed to teach her how to survive.

Why couldn't she be more like me? Like my mother?

My mother – the victor of the Second Hunger Games – always wanted the best for us. We were her little princesses. We always got what we want; the new shoes, the new bag. We got whatever we asked for.

I wanted more.

I wanted to train. I wanted to win just like she did.

That's all I wanted.

And, being the giving mother that she is, she signed me up for training. My sister, too, but in retrospect, that was a mistake.

A _huge_ mistake.

Pulling the cloth back up over her face, I step away, tracing my finger along the coffin. I shake my head as I do it, not feeling the emotion that I'm supposed to feel. Not feeling the grief, the remorse.

I feel nothing except contempt for her.

How could she let herself killed? How could she be so stupid?

How could she not win like she was supposed to do?

My mother did it.

I did it.

Why couldn't she?

Was it because she was ill-prepared? Or because our mother did not spend enough time training with her?

No. It's neither of those things.

It's because she inadequate. She was weak. She was foolish.

It's a shame I have to consider my sister.

"They will be here soon," my father says, tapping me on the shoulder. I nod my head slowly, still peering down into the coffin where my sister's body lies. "Why are you so focused on her?"

I shake my head, turning towards my father. He stands there, the grief still in his face. The way his eyes are so melancholic, a tear still formed in the corner of his eye but still not being released. It's just sitting there, waiting for the right moment.

Why can't he see what Maira has done to our family? How her own selfish nature has ruined our family?

Our name besmirched.

Our reputation tarnished.

"Don't be so naïve, father," I reply, watching his lip tremble. "I feel no remorse for the girl. She let herself get killed."

"Don't speak about your sister like that, Neila."

"She was a sad excuse for a sister," I say sharply. "Mother's an emotional wreck. Why aren't you?"

"I'm upset, too, Neila," he says, shifting his jaw. He plays with his hands, sliding the ring on his index finger up and down on his finger. "Don't be like that."

"You're upset because you miss her," I sneer, rolling my eyes. "You sentimentally miss her. Do you realize how pathetic that sounds?"

"You should miss her too," he mutters, his voice low. "She was your sister."

"A sister that embarrassed me."

"Neila."

"Next time when you decide to have an unwanted child," I say, turning my back towards my father and beginning to walk down the small flight of stairs. "At least make them competent."

It's the least he could do – make another daughter who's worth something. Someone like _me_.

Someone who isn't an embarrassment. A disgrace.

Who isn't a failure to my family.

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

It's Teddy's turn to talk.

Hi, all.

Jake and I really do appreciate every single submission we received. We reviewed each one and figured out what tributes we thought have the most potential and whatnot. So, thank you to everyone that submitted, even if you were not accepted.

Congratulations, though, to the twenty-four tributes that were accepted.

(I'm trying to think of what else Jake told me that I have to include in this.)

The blog can be found on jakey121's profile. On the blog, you will see who will write which tributes. (Side-note: We had to change some of the pictures and some information about each tribute, simply for our own convenience).

So, here is the Tribute List with the tributes and who submitted them:

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><p><strong>Tribute List<strong>

**District One:**

Male- Reign Arondight _(felicitea)_

Female- Calaise Therian _(DA Member Hogwarts)_

**District Two:**

Male- Julius Dumont _(Munamana)_

Female- Sierra Lange _(Aspect of One)_

**District Three:**

Male- Erron Barnum _(Liquidation)_

Female- Eleza Leore _(Acereader55)_

**District Four:**

Male- Tiberion Wadell _(Remus98)_

Female- Aliset Chevillar _(Sunlight Comes Creeping In)_

**District Five:**

Male- Levi Rinehart _(Burning Stars)_

Female- Juliette Durand _(District11-Olive)_

**District Six:**

Male- Oscaron Linnerchip _(ElementalEvolution)_

Female- Adelyn Varelis _(The Knife Throwing Expert)_

**District Seven:**

Male- Wyatt Lane _(JGrayzz)_

Female- Rebekah Amare _(xxbookwormmockingjayxx)_

**District Eight:**

Male- Asher Challier _(nevergone4ever)_

Female- Ilise Massey _(SomeDays)_

**District Nine:**

Male- Lauro Calert _(LokiThisIsMadness)_

Female- Sadia Garris _(PretentiousScholar)_

**District Ten:**

Male- Ciel Fontaine _(TitanMaddix)_

Female- Armity Selsun _(Metallic Shadow10)_

**District Eleven:**

Male- Frazier Malcolm _(bobothebear)_

Female- Mitzie Hunter _(BamItsTyler)_

**District Twelve:**

Male- Juno Burnet _(Jalen Kun)_

Female- Remy Prynne _(Axe Smelling God)_

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><p>Once again, the blog is up on Jake's profile (as well as mine). Now, for questions:<p>

_Favorites from the blog and why?_

_Least favorites from the blog and why?_


	3. Pre-Reapings Part One

**Chapter Three.**

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><p><strong>Pre-Reapings, Part One.<strong>

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><p><strong>Eleza Leore, 18 years old;<br>District Three Female;  
>Cashmere67.<strong>

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><p>"Don't you think we should be doing this at night?"<p>

Sitting down on the ground, I grip onto the edge of the ground, letting myself dangle. It's not that deep of a drop, and when I let go, I land on my feet steadily. I wave for Kieran to follow me, but he reluctantly peers over the edge, refusing to follow.

"Why can't we just come back tonight?"

"Don't be such a baby," I say, trying not to shout too loudly. We don't want to attract any attention – we already have had that problem before. "Get down here."

Kieran grabs onto the ledge, swooping his legs over. He drops down, coughing and swiping the dirt off of his pants. "I'm not coming next time."

"See if I care."

The coffin sits in the middle of the hole, two straps holding down the lid to it. It's a nice type of wood, definitely coming from a more wealthy family, and I attempt to take off the straps. The dirt and dust is smothering it altogether, but I brush it away, revealing two clips. I unlatch one, then the other, and the lid pops off.

"That was easy."

"Yeah, digging around in someone's dead grave is really easy," Kieran says, the grudge still on his face.

Pushing the top of the coffin to the side, I look inside, seeing bones scattered here and there. None of them are connected, still, and they all look deteriorated. I shrug, pushing the bones to the side and search around for anything valuable.

"That is disgusting."

"You get used to it," I say, and when I find a small golden ring, I take it out and hold it up. "Sometimes it's worth it, though."

"Do you even know where that's been?" Kieran asks, his nose wrinkled in disgust.

"Hm," I say, pondering for a moment. From time to time, I like to make stories about the treasures I find in coffins and graves. It makes me feel like I didn't steal the item in vain… That there's a purpose behind it. "Those bones belong to a wealthy old lady and her husband proposed to her with that ring. Son was a Peacekeeper. Her husband died from a heart attack, the son died in war. She died from a broken heart."

"This is all so dreary."

"That's life."

"That's life," he mimics, making a face and sticking out his tongue. He finally comes over, swishing his hands back and forth to rid the dust and to actually find something. "What's this?"

Kieran holds out a thin necklace. It's silver-plated, with jewels placed alternately on it. The jewels are a light green color, and when I look at the gem on the gold ring, they're the same. Guess she liked this kind of gem.

"That was the old lady's childhood necklace. Her mother gave it to her for her – uh – seventh birthday."

"You have to stop with that."

"Lighten up."

Kieran steps away from the coffin, pressing his foot up against the ground. He grabs onto a twig that's sticking out of the ground, propping himself up. He starts to climb out of the hole, leaving the coffin and me alone.

I look at it and sigh.

I never think much of this – my job, that is. To people like Kieran, it's morbid and weird. To me, though, it's a hobby. It's more than a hobby, actually, since I've started a little business from it. Some things you find in these coffins are actually worth a lot, but some people don't realize that.

And, perhaps, those are the people I get away from when doing this. The ones that judge me for doing this. The girls my age I have never cliqued with or the boys I have never had chemistry with. They can all judge me.

But, not the dead bodies lying in the coffins.

The dead are dead, right?

They can't judge me.

Kieran's a tad different. He showed interest in it, but now, he'll never do it again. I prefer doing it alone, anyway. More time to think.

"Are you coming?" Kieran calls, already two shovels in his hands as he looks over the ledge. "I have to get home for lunch."

"That's cute," I say, following his motion and propping myself up on the twigs. I glance down at the coffin one last time, realizing that we left it open. It doesn't really matter; no one ever comes down in this besides me. "Fine. I'm coming."

Kieran already has a shovel waiting for me when I get back up. Before I go to work, I fix my hair, tying it into another bun. I pull the hood from my sweatshirt over my head as well, trying to conceal my face as best as I can. I doubt anyone will come over here, but just in case.

No one ever really does around here.

They're all too scared of the dead. Too scared to come face-to-face with what will happen to all of us.

Besides, I usually do it at night-time. I prefer being covered by the darkness and shadows, but today was different. I just had a hunch that we would hit the jackpot today. And, well, we did. To me, at least.

I'll sell these for a profit.

Plus, when the Reapings near, there is more Peacekeeper activity. It's not as easy to do the job when they're always prowling around the District, always shoving their nose in other people's business.

"Do you want to keep the necklace?" I ask, holding it up in the air. It really is an exquisite piece of jewelry. "No charge, of course."

"That's all yours," Kieran says, already filling up most of the hole with dirt. "I just want to get out of here already."

I laugh. "Don't we all?"

_I want to get out of here too, Kieran._

_Out of District Three._

_The District where I'm ostracized and judged. The District where I'm considered different._

_The District where I feel out of place._

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><p><strong>Aliset Chevillar, 18 years old;<br>District Four Female;  
>Cashmere67.<strong>

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><p>"Come on, Ali. You <em>have<em> to do it!"

"Seriously. We're counting on you."

"I don't know, guys," I say, tugging on my sleeves. "I don't think I'm ready."

Janet pipes up, shoving her face right in front of mine. Her brown hair falls in front of her face, the smile still shining from behind it. She grips onto my shoulders, shakes me gently, and then wraps her arm around my neck.

"You're strong, you're smart. Plus, you're beautiful. The boys will be fawning over you."

"More than they already do, huh?" I retort, making Janet giggle uncontrollably. I appreciate her optimism, but it's on the verge of being too idealistic, and frankly, delusional.

Isolde, who's still suffering from her boyfriend breaking up only a day ago, finally stands up, walking over to me. She has a sullen look on her face, and with a stern expression, she sits down next to me and places her hand on my leg. The other girls behind her begin to mindless chat away, knowing that when Isolde is in a bad mood, you don't interfere with her.

I know that by now.

"How are you doing?" I ask, placing my hand on top of hers.

"It's not about me, today, Aliset."

I shake my hand, gripping my hand around hers. "No, this is about you. How are you?"

"I'm getting over it," Isolde replies, attempting to force a smirk for my benefit. She was always one to force a smile, even if she was upset. "Besides, did you see what he's going after now?"

"No, who?" I ask, already knowing the answer. I'll entertain, though. If it makes her feel better, then I'll be that person. For her to vent to, for her to pour her soul and feelings onto.

I've always been that person.

"Arina."

I gasp exaggeratedly, covering my mouth with my hand. "You mean the one with the crooked teeth? And the roots that are the color of dirt?"

Isolde gulps, lowering her head as she closes her eyes. Janet rolls her eyes besides me, and I shake my head, smiling to her. We all know that Isolde is a handful, but I'm the only one who knows how to deal with her. The rest just get fed up with her.

"Does he think she's better than me?"

"Of course not, Issy," I say, patting her on the back as her body comes falling forward into my lap. "You'll find someone else. There are tons of fish in the sea."

As Isolde rests her head on my lap, I hear the sound of muffled sobs. She shakes her head, and I fix her hair slowly, putting it into a ponytail. Janet walks away now, going over to the other girls and in unison, they all look at me and Isolde. I wave my hand, and they gesture for me to come over, but I stay where I am.

I can't abandon my friends like that.

They wouldn't abandon me if I were upset or in a bad mood, so why would I?

I'm here for Isolde.

And she's here for me.

That's how it works.

"I'm okay," Isolde says, raising her head and wiping the tears from under her eyes. "He's a jerk. He was ugly, anyway."

"That's the spirit!" I say, making my voice sound peppy.

"Is the crying session over now?" One of the girls call out, making the rest of them snicker. Isolde scowls, mumbling something under her breath. "Let's talk go back to talking about Aliset. This is her day, after all."

"Why?" Isolde asks, unaware of everything that happened today. "What happened to her? Is she pregnant?!"

"No, you idiot," Janet snaps, rolling her eyes at the girl. That's what I mean; Janet doesn't have the patience for her. "She was chosen as the volunteer."

"Volunteer?" Isolde asks.

"For the Games, duh!"

Isolde turns towards me, the concern showing in the way she looks at me. She blinks, and I smile, and usually, she would smile back, but this time, she doesn't. She sits there, staring at me, not saying a word.

"Are you going to do it?"

"If you mean am I going to volunteer," I say, prolonging my response. Since, in all honesty, I don't know if I am. I haven't convinced myself yet, nor has anyone else. "It's still a possibility."

"Don't listen to her," Janet says, snapping her fingers. The rest of the girls giggle. "She's going to volunteer and then she's going to win."

"Aliset is going to make us all look good!"

I smirk.

I _would _make them all look good. I would make myself look good, too.

"So, what do you say, Aliset?" Janet asks, but Isolde stays quiet. I can tell that Isolde isn't too happy with the fact that I might volunteer. "I'll give you three seconds to answer. One."

_I have trained. The Training Academy has chosen me as the volunteer, so they believe I'm capable._

"Two."

_If I win, I'll reap the benefits. I'll get money and fame. I'll finally have everything I've ever wanted._

"Three."

_And, if I don't, it'll make me look bad. It'll make me look weak and afraid. _

"Answer!" The girls shout together, and I shoot my head upwards, a wide smile on my face. I want to volunteer.

"I am going to volunteer," I say matter-of-factly, my voice confident. I want to do this.

As Janet and the other girls fall into each other, giggling and saying random side-comments, the room gets noisy. Isolde sits there, though, still not too enthused with the idea of me volunteering. I offer her a warm smile, but once again, she doesn't return it.

She will see, though.

She will see everything the Games have to offer.

Ever since I was a young girl, I've always wanted more for myself. More money, more friends, more name recognition in the District. I just want to make a difference, to make myself known for something.

And I'm almost there. Almost isn't good enough, though.

But, this – volunteering for the Games – will get me there. _That_ will get me to the top.

And the top is where I belong.

* * *

><p><strong>Wyatt Lane, 17 years old;<br>District Seven Male;  
>jakey121.<strong>

* * *

><p>My friends and I take our time moving through the District.<p>

It might be reaping day, but with hours to go, none of us are in a rush to head to the Square and wait it out. Particularly not me.

Why would I be scared?

Why should they be scared?

I'm volunteering, but they wouldn't find me fretting over my decision, or trying to back out of it. It is what it is. My future is my future, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let anything get in the way of that. Even my so called _pals._

"We could see if Paulette's out with her friends?" Jasper says.

I look to my right at my friend closest to me, looking up into my eyes, smiling. It's quite funny how they act like this around me – so tense, just in case they might say the wrong thing.

They don't need to worry, not here at least. In my little gang, with the sun above us, the houses to the left and right and the throngs of citizens moving around, they shouldn't expect anything bad to happen.

Not yet, anyway.

Not where people can see.

"You have a thing for her don't you?" I nudge him playfully. He almost goes for it back at me, but thinks better of it, continuing to walk forwards.

"I think I might have a go on that."

"But-"

"But?" I raise an eyebrow, stopping our walk forwards. Immediately, they all stop, gazing at our exchange. Poor Jasper gulps as his eyes travel to my smiling face. My fingers clench once, then unclench and I lean down to reach his height.

"Do you have a problem with me going after Paulette?"

"It's just I-I've… you know she's been my… well I've liked her for ages."

"And I've liked her for a few seconds. Who cares about time? I call dibs."

"Dibs…?"

"Yes," I thump him in the chest, pushing him back. I laugh, and he tries to force a weaker sounding one past his pale lips. His skin has gone an awful shade of white – nearly transparent. But like I said, nothing bad will happen. Not here. Not out in the open.

I want to be their friend.

The good guy.

I am a good guy – a great guy even. Not many people can boast of what I've done, what I've achieved, who I am and what I can do all wrapped into one pure, good looking package. They're just scared, which again is good. Fear is better than that deeper nonsense people wrap themselves up in.

Fear demands respect.

And I have that.

"I guess… I guess if you want Paulette, I'll step back."

I wrap my arm round his neck, pulling him in for a quick, friendly pat on the back. "Knew you'd see sense mate. Why waste a great rack on a scrawny shit like you eh?"

"Exactly," he says, smiling, before turning away.

I clap my hands together and start the procession onwards. As always, people move out of our way. Although we're in Seven and pretty much anyone that works out in the trees has an impressive stature, there's something quite imposing about my little group. Maybe it's the fact I'm at the helm – well obviously it is. But there's more to it than that.

Not only do you have to look good, which I do, you also have to act like you're in control. I do that. I try my best to not only get people who I don't know to at least see something in me, something they'll think is good, but the people closest to continue thinking that so I have support.

Not that I need anyone but myself, but still. It's good to have company. It gives me necessary distractions.

"I heard the Peacekeepers are cracking down on drug intake this year. Something about a black market that they've finally found out about."

My ears perk up at the sound of my friends' conversation behind me. Instead of jumping straight in, I control myself enough to listen as we continue to walk.

"What kind of person do you have to be to take those sorts of things?"

"There's a lot of different types you know. People have their reasons."

_Yeah they do._ My fingers twitch nervously against my side. Although I continue to grin out at the District, a sweat is building on my forehead, one of those cold kinds that burn more than they should.

Once a bead of sweat trickles down the bridge of my nose, I turn to face them, tilting my head. "Let's stop talking about such depressing topics, alright? Not on my day."

"Your day?"

"Yes, my day."

They nod their heads. "Isn't every day your day?"

Oh yeah. I turn back to face the front, digging my hands into my pockets to stop the nervous fidgeting. "Precisely. Today's just special."

I can't even remember if I told them or not what my plans are. Not that I care if they know. Whether they're aware of the fact I'm leaving or not, it won't matter, because soon enough I'll be back and that will be that.

I'll be here with tonnes of money, a brand new house, Victor friends and any girl I want ready to line up outside my door. For a guy like me that's all I need. I'll be set for life.

My _friends _don't need to know about my plans. They're my plans – it's none of their business really. I do what I want, whether or not they agree with it, it's pretty much tough shit. I like to think I have a good amount of control in Seven.

Not loads, but given my father, given what I've accumulated over the years, there's something there that makes me know I can win the Games. It can't be too hard, right? Whenever I've faced a challenge in life, it's been easy as shit to get through it and come out the other end.

I'm just too good.

Who else is going to win?

No one. No one can beat me.

* * *

><p><strong>Juno Burnet, 17 years old;<br>District Twelve Male;  
>jakey121.<strong>

* * *

><p>Not many people find it in themselves to be outside on reaping day.<p>

Me and my friends are different.

Instead of wallowing in self-pity and despair, we let our legs hang over one of the walls nearest to the Square, watching them set up and prepare for the main event.

Sinclair looks at me with a goofy grin, pointing out at all the Peacekeepers being ordered around by the brand new Escort – well in over their heads. I laugh along with them, soaking in the moment. It's great to just be here, living and breathing with the people closest to me.

Not everyone has friends, people they can say are close to them, people who they share secrets with and cherished memories. I'm blessed to be that sort of person.

"We could be the first ones in the Square today," Rosanne says, in her dainty little voice as always. She's the smallest of us all, and in turn the one I'm most protective over. Sinclair plays the part of a lesser me – not that I need to be regarded as anything important, not in the slightest. Well, not with them anyway.

Unless…

I shake my head and smile, as always, swinging my legs back and forth, embracing the warm air that infects Twelve with a peaceful bliss not many people here really appreciate. I understand why, but that doesn't make it any easier for me to simply forget and move on. If they're not able to just enjoy life for whatever it is, however short it may be, then that's their problem.

But if they want an escape, then there's me and my friends, who are more than willing, every second of every day, to meet new people and get along with them just as well as we always have done.

"I think we should be late on purpose." Oliver laughs to himself, eyeing the Peacekeepers mischievously.

"We don't want to get on their bad sides. They're already pretty pissed."

"Let them," I say, laughing. "But yeah we'll try to be on time. Might as well get this out of the way so we can enjoy this evening."

"Speaking of which, do we even have any plans?"

I stop to think. My parents would probably let one or two of them come in and stay the night, but not the whole group. Not that that's every really bothered me before, but I try to not aggravate everyone around me. Some people seem to think I'm the kind of person not to be around – which I don't understand, of course.

Not everyone can be bleak and miserable in the saddest District left to rot in the outskirts of Panem. Some of us need to at least try. And that's the role me and my friends fill, the triers.

"We could camp near the fence, look at the stars-"

"-get eaten by bears."

"There aren't any bears," I push Sinclair away, chuckling brightly. "Besides, they'd take one sniff of you and run away crying. No one wants to eat you."

"Some people do."

"I don't think that's called eating."

At this precise moment, as I wipe a tear in my eye, perched on the very edge of the wall, another group of people our age move from the shadows of the nearby alley, straight for the Square.

We take notice of them and wave happily, regardless of who they are, but of course not everyone is as receptive as we are. They ignore us.

I pout, running a hand awkwardly through my hair. I hate being ignored. Especially by people who don't really have any proper reason to act like this- and if they do, why not try to inject yourself with some sort of cheer?

It can help a lot.

It relieves you of a burden. Friends do that. They help provide a distraction – a welcomed one.

But then I see _him, _and that's when I stop, my legs coming to a halt. Troy looks at me with with narrowed eyes, his lips playing up into a half snarl, his hands clenched into fists by his side.

I copy the exact movements, feeling something nasty overtaking my stomach, like hot pokers are being prodded against my skin.

"Bastard," I growl.

"Don't Juno. He's your friend."

"Was my friend," I correct, snapping. They leave, vanishing out of sight, but the sour taste in my mouth is still there. I lean backwards and try to smile again, but I see him as a distant memory, clouded with contempt, and can't seem to shake it off.

"He said I was annoying. He just abandoned me… I tried to help and he just-"

"We won't abandon you. Never."

I try to believe them. Not that they aren't trustworthy people, but sometimes there seems to be a constant battle raging between myself and how I want to be perceived, and everyone else around me.

I don't find it fair how I'm constantly having to validate myself amongst people, when all I'm trying to do is be the best kind of friend I can be. If that's annoying, then screw them.

And if they abandon me, well, let them. I don't need people who don't like me back. And if they want to ruin my life, I'll fight back ten times as hard.

"You guys better not leave me. Never ever."

"Never ever," Sinclair says, extending his pinkie finger. I wrap mine around his and smile again, the cold, empty sensation Troy and everyone else fills me with leaving alongside a sigh, out into the depressing world to be forgotten.

Although the memories are stored inside the back of my head, a vice round my heart, I won't always let them get me down. I refuse to be treated like I'm nothing but a speck of dust to be swatted away, like I'm a parasite feeding off people's misery, trying to force my lifestyle upon them.

That's not me.

I just want to be seen as someone important – someone special, someone that can be there for everyone in their darkest times.

Why should I hate myself for wanting to be that kind of person?

That's a good sort of person. The person I strive to be is the type of person everyone should fight for – everyone should mould themselves after and continually support in themselves.

"So… tonight…"

We drift off into a conversation about our future plans. It acts as a distraction, my own thoughts, my friends and what we have to say – they distract me from the harshness of life and that's what we all need, as an oppressed country, a way of blanketing what we face, so it doesn't always seem so pointless.

My laughter acts as a way of saving myself.

Not everyone sees it.

But so what?

I'm me.

That's all I'll ever be. I'm not changing.

* * *

><p><strong>I guess it's my turn for the author's note? Not sure if we rotate but whatever.<strong>

**Not much to say except, if you aren't aware of the format, there will be six pre-Capitol chapters split into two pre-reapings, two reapings and two goodbyes. Then each tribute will get another POV in the Capitol.**

**Anyway, from the both of us, thanks to everyone for your support so far. Hope you enjoyed this chapter!**


	4. Pre-Reapings Part Two

**Chapter Four.**

* * *

><p><strong>Pre-Reapings, Part Two.<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Julius Dumont, 18 years old;<br>District Two Male;  
>jakey121.<strong>

* * *

><p>Darius gurgles, poking me in the knee.<p>

"What you got there?" I lean forwards, smiling and ruffling his curled head of hair. His high-pitched giggles fill the room with a joy this household hasn't known for a while. At least that's what I assume.

Anyone under the thumb of my brother Dante can't be living the greatest life – even his two year old son.

He makes more noises and crawls towards me, balancing a toy on my knee. I take it in my hand and shake it, laughing with my little nephew as he claps his hands once, then falls back and picks up another toy.

It's good being here, away from the outside world of Two, the training, the pressures, the expectations of everyone and having a family to come back to. At least Darius, in all his obliviousness, doesn't look at me, look at Dante, and then expect me to live up to a promise he backed out of.

Here, it's just me and someone I love, enjoying life for its smallest pleasures. There's nothing better.

"I'm going to have to go soon," I frown, even though Darius has no idea what I'm really saying, he sits up on the balls of his feet, smiling at me. "Your daddy's going to be back soon."

"Back now, actually."

Both of us look up at the deep voice of my older brother. He comes in as I stand up, clapping me on the back once in what he counts as a brotherly act of love. Darius gets another ruffle of the hair and Dante falls back into the couch, propping one leg over the other, smirking at me.

"Today's the big day."

"Yeah," I can't match up to Dante's enthusiasm for my future. This has never been me. I've always been the guy with my friends, with my family, with everyone that matters most, ignoring what Two pressures its citizens into doing.

And now, because of my brother, because of my father, I might not have that future.

I don't back out because I can't back out. Loyalty is another thing that means more to me than it does to most people. If I can't have the darker qualities my brother has, I can have the lighter qualities that are shunned for the sake of progress.

I don't care what that makes me.

I enjoy it.

"I hope you're prepared."

"Oh I am," I force myself to laugh, "as prepared as you were, Dante?"

His whole demeanour changes. Darius continually looks between the two of us, lost in unawareness whilst his father's eyes darken. He steps forwards, then stops himself, thinking better of it. "Don't mock me little brother."

"Sorry, _big brother._"

"You're doing this and that's it."

This time I take a step forwards. For a few seconds, little Darius disappears into the corners of the room, I cast him off because the temper that's rising isn't something I can unleash knowing someone so young is nearby. But Dante… the way he looks at me, the condescending smirk on his face, all of it riles me up to a whole new level.

"Ever think what it might have been like if you weren't a coward and actually did something with your life!" I pick up a rattle, throwing it at him. He laughs, dodging it. I hear Darius gurgle again, in that way he does when he's enjoying something, and I hold myself from throwing something else.

"I did do something with my life. I got married. I have three children. What do you have?"

"What do I have?" I roll my head back, laughing with anger constricting my throat, curling my fingers into a fist. "I have nothing. Nothing because you and that thick skull of yours got yourself into a situation only your little brother can get you out of. What kind of man relies on his brother to help support his family?"

"Watch it Julius," Dante raises a finger, looks once at Darius, and then up at me. "We'll speak about this later."

"No," I plant a kiss on little Darius' head, turning to walk away. "We won't."

This is what it's like, being near to someone like Dante, consumed by what Panem has come to expect from a District like Two. I can't be a loving brother, or a loving uncle, or a loving friend when all that is put upon my shoulders, a heavy burden I have to carry through my life.

I'm eighteen. A kid, basically.

Once outside the house, I continue walking back towards my own, attempting a smile at anyone that greets me, or even happens to cross paths with me, but knowing it's not done with equal cheer as I can usually exhibit. It's important to me to know that other people understand I can be depended on, if they're down, to cheer them up.

But when I'm down?

What then?

Who's there for me?

I kick a lone pebble out the way, watching it bounce down the street, landing in front of someone else. My mother, dressed for the reaping, stares at me with a kind smile on her face. I run to her side. I can't allow Dante, District Two and everything else get under my skin. I can't allow my head to be contaminated with the bad things in life.

I have to look towards the future, even if I might not have one, and hope that it'll make up for everything. That I'll be alive. Have my mother. Darius. My friends. Even Dante.

"Morning mother," I kiss her on the cheek, joining her side.

"Been to see your brother?"

"Yes," I smile, forcing myself to act grateful for everything he's done for me. Everything she can see, but refuses to believe. This is my decision, in her eyes. My decision to live up to my years of training.

She doesn't see her son's shameful life, what he's doing to his younger brother. She never will. People turn a blind eye to what they don't want to pay attention to.

So I pay attention to the bad things, because if there's something to dread, it makes it easier to smile. If I know there's a darkness, I can try to be the light.

"I'll see you later, mother."

I kiss her on the cheek once more and walk away, back towards home, or the Academy, or wherever my nervous feet carry me.

This is my present.

Leading to my future.

I have to make it count- I have to live up to what people want from me, and then, when it's all settled down, be myself for once. Do what I want.

I promised that to myself a long time ago.

I promised to just be me, live my life.

I always keep my promises.

Nothing will change.

* * *

><p><strong>Adelyn Varelis, 16 years old;<br>District Six Female;  
>jakey121. <strong>

* * *

><p>I try to ignore everyone around me. If they're part of the background, blending with the grey, dilapidated houses, then they're nothing to me. I don't have to think about them, act like they're around me, or even try to fight back.<p>

It's just me and myself, walking through the early morning air, my hands by my sides swinging through the breeze. It's better this way. Easier. Without having to care so much about other people, I have the world to myself, I have the birds in the sky, the chill in the air, and everything else that isn't here to screw me over.

But then, like life always does, it comes back to slap me in the face. I see her in the distance, coming towards me. Everyone else slowly starts to unwrap themselves from the depressing colours of life and merge into reality. She spots me once, thinks about turning, as do I, but both of us are too stubborn to give in. To show weakness.

So I keep on walking, head high, hands in my pockets, a blank face.

If I don't show anything to her, she knows she hasn't won. But really, I know the second she opens her mouth, something will come out. A part of me I've never been able to control, because it's all I've got. My voice. It's my way of showing everyone that no matter what they do to me, I'm still not someone's plaything, I'm not someone they can shove around.

I think most have got the message.

I do me. They do themselves. And that's the way life goes round.

"Adelyn," she nods at me, just as we meet in the centre of the road, like a grand stage. "Good to see you."

"Is it?" I laugh out loud, ignoring the stares that come my way. No one laughs on reaping day. No one even smiles. Every other day of every other year maybe I adhere to that, because there isn't anything to laugh or smile about, but if people on reaping day don't like that, then I do it. Not to annoy them. But because, maybe I do deserve a day a year to be like other people.

Only on the one day of the year they try not to be.

It's my system. It's how my life works.

"You look well." I can tell she's nervous. Her fingers drum against her hip, a bead of sweat rolls down the bridge of her nose. It's quite nice knowing that just by being here I'm making her nervous. I'm the one causing her to be uncomfortable rather than the other way round. Usually this means nothing. But some people are the exception. Some people I care about enough to want to get under their skin.

This bitch is one of them.

"Is that all you have to say to me?"

"Is there anything else you want me to say?" she says, without really meeting my eyes. If I'm forced to look at the sympathy she has towards me, or the guilt, I might hit her. It's probably good she's too weak to make eye contact. For the both of us, neither need a fight. Besides, she's not worth it. No one ever is.

"Having a good morning?" I sneer, raising an eyebrow. She continues to stare at the ground, pretending I'm not glaring at her, pretending I'm not showing everything I've ever felt to her in one single, standalone moment of pure hatred.

I don't usually get this wound up because there's never usually a point to expressing this much hate, not when people will continue to stab you in the back, or show their worst colours. But I can't control it. The way my stomach squirms. My lungs burn. My heart beats faster and faster.

And I hate it. The lack of control. Knowing I'm losing what's important to me.

"You and I both know neither of us want to be talking to each other, so I suggest-"

"That's the smartest thing I think you've ever said," I pat her on the shoulder, laughing when she squirms away from my hand, "I'm surprised you have a chance to be out here, what with all the time you spend fucking my father-"

"Adelyn!" Finally her eyes meet mine, and finally a fire is lit. She reels back, her mouth hopelessly hanging open, then closing, staring at me. Then she points a finger and shakes her head. Is she crying? Or is she angry? Or both? It's pathetic.

"I love your father."

"So do I you stupid bitch!" I now shout, I now give in to it, stepping forwards with a hand raised. Someone tells us to stop making a scene, some distant presence that could roll over and die for all I care. "You think I don't love the man who raised me? Me and my parents, we were living… we were happy… and then you opened your legs and-"

"It wasn't like that. He loves me. I love him-"

My hand meets her cheek. The noise that rings out is silenced by a unified intake of breath. All eyes are on me, everyone staring at some stupid little teenage girl who can't control her temper.

I don't need them.

I don't need to be told how to live my life, or act a certain way, when I'm perfectly happy to do what I want and how I want to do it. I bring my hand back for another slap, but she's gone, running with her stupid handbag slapping against her leg, all the way down the street and round the corner.

"Bitch," I spit on the ground, clenching my fingers into a fist, then letting them relax by my sides. I look around me, at all the faces glued on our little exchange of words, and throw a finger at the man nearest to me.

"Mind your own." I turn my head sharply and walk away, back towards my house. I don't need this District: the people within it, the rules, the expectations. They're nothing to me.

When I'm at my house, I reach my bed within seconds, tucking myself under my covers and losing myself to sleep.

The reaping's today. I don't care.

I'm sleeping.

I'm doing what I want.

That's all that matters to me: myself. Is it selfish? Maybe. But the world is selfish, everyone rotting in this hell is selfish.

If they have anything against me, screw them. I don't care.

I've never cared.

And I never will.

* * *

><p><strong>Asher Challier, 16 years old;<br>District Eight Male;  
>Cashmere67.<strong>

* * *

><p>"Asher!"<p>

"Banta!"

Turning the corner, I rush over towards the group of three boys. Banta is already there, with Buck and some other boy next to him. They're sitting around some pit of dirt, a log placed next to it. I embrace Banta, doing our signature handshake that ends with us snapping our fingers, and then I greet Buck with a wave.

"Hey, Buck."

"Wait, why aren't you with that old guy today? What's his name?" Buck asks, nudging the boy next to him with his elbow. The boy snickers, and I side-step towards Banta, ignoring his question. "Well?"

"His name is Rayna," I say, looking back at Banta. Banta smirks and I know that he isn't a big fan of Buck. Buck just hangs around the other boys that I'm friends with, and even though they always tell me they can tell him to go away, I don't want them to.

He's not a bad guy.

He's nice – for the most part, at least.

Banta sits down on a log, looking down at his lap as he begins to drag his fingers in the dirt. He swirls his finger around, and I stand there, watching Buck and the other boy talk to one another.

"So, what's up?" I ask, wanting to join in the conversation.

"The sky," Buck says, snorting. "What else, stupid?"

"Fine, fine," I say, smiling. See? He's funny. "How are you, Buck?"

"Good," he says, keeping it short. I nod my head, and he turns back around, talking to the other boy again. "Hey, Asher?"

"Yeah?"

"You're really skinny, you know that?" Buck says, poking at my stomach. The other boy whose name I still haven't learned yet plays along, grabbing me by the shoulders and laughing. "Do you eat?"

"Come on, Buck," Banta says, looking up from playing with the dirt and rocks. "We all know you eat the most out of anyone here."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Buck asks, shooting a glance at Banta. Banta runs his hand through his hair, fixing it so it falls back into place. "I asked you a question."

"It means that you need to leave the kid alone," Banta replies, and Buck disregards me now, walking over towards Banta who is already standing up. Buck tilts his head upwards, and even then, he is still shorter than Banta. "Is there a problem?"

"You're the problem," Buck says, getting all up in Banta's face. Banta takes a step back, and I take a step forward, Buck unaware that I'm behind him. Buck goes closer to him, and I immerse myself too quickly in the situation to realize what I'm about to do.

I step forward, grab Buck's shoulder, and turn him to face me.

"What-"

My fist finds his nose.

Buck falls backwards, clutching at his nose with his hands. The blood is dripping down his face, and the other boy rushes over, pushing me to the side. No… No. I didn't mean to punch him.

He was bullying Banta, but I didn't mean to hurt him.

"I'm sorry," I say, kneeling down to help him back up. Buck swats my hand away, covering his nose with his hand, the blood seeping in-between the fingers. "I'm… I'm sorry, Buck. I'm sorry."

"Shut up," he snaps, holding out his hand for the other boy to help him up. "I'm out of here."

"I'm sorry," I say as I watch him stumble to get up, some of the blood staining the collar of his shirt. He walks away, looking over his shoulder at Banta and I. "I didn't mean to…"

"Don't worry about it, Asher."

"I didn't mean to hurt him," I say, trying to catch my breath. I heave, pressing my hand against my chest to calm myself down. I didn't mean to do it – I didn't. I just wanted him to stop. "Banta…"

Banta nods his head, wrapping his arm around my neck. He leads me down another dirt road, waving at a girl or two as we pass them. They giggle as they walk past, and I stare forward, still in utter disbelief that I did that.

How could I just punch him? Over something like that?

_I didn't mean to do it._

_I didn't mean to hurt him._

_I just have trouble controlling my emotions sometimes._

"Lighten up, kid," Banta says, leading me back to my front door. "Go get some rest."

"I'm sorry, Banta," I say, watching him walk away. He raises his hand in the air, waving it, and just like that, he's gone. I stand there, looking at the grass on my front lawn, and behind me, the door creaks open.

"You're home early," my mother says, placing a hand on my shoulder as she spins me around. She sees me staring down at my fist, and as she looks at my hand, she sees the blood. "May I ask what happened?"

I shake my head, storming into the house right past her. "I didn't mean to hurt him. He just… He called me skinny and then he was being mean to Banta. I had to do something about it."

"Don't worry about it," she says, wrapping her hands around my head. I rest my head on her chest, letting her run her fingers through my hair. "You defended your friend. That's a good thing."

"But he was bleeding," I say, holding up my hands behind my mom's back. "He didn't even accept my apology."

"You offered it, though," she says, her voice soothing me. She always has been the voice of reason in my life. "That's his fault he didn't accept it."

My mother holds me by my shoulders, looking me directly in the eyes. She smiles, and I smile back, and she kisses my forehead. She walks away, going back to the kitchen where she goes back to cooking food. I stand there, though, trying to find it in me to agree with what she just told me.

I did apologize – he just didn't accept it.

That counts for something, right?

_If he doesn't want to accept my apology, then I have nothing to apologize for._

_He deserved it, anyway._

_He hurt my friend._

_So, I hurt him in return._

_No one can hurt my friend and get away with it._

* * *

><p><strong>Mitzie Hunter, 17 years old;<br>District Eleven Female;  
>Cashmere67.<strong>

* * *

><p>"Oink-Oink!"<p>

The pig hops up, running back towards the corner of the pit. I run after it, sliding forward in the mud to try to grab it. It slips away, kicking up some dirt in my face, and I flip over, trying to grab at its back. I get back up, wiping off the dirt from the legs, and go after it again.

"Oink!" I squeal, clapping my hands. "Oink-Oink!"

This time, I corner the pig, sticking out my left foot so it doesn't try to get away. I bend over, get on my knees, and wrap my first arm around it. It kicks, snorts, and squeals some more. Then, I wrap my next arm around it, making it toss and turn in my arms.

After a minute or so, it calms down, sitting in my arms rather contently.

See?

I'm good with animals.

"You look disgusting."

I turn around, taking the pig with me. I have my arms wrapped around it tightly, and when I see my two sisters, Jubilee and Magnolia, standing in front of me, I walk over towards them with it. Mason is next to them, but he seems indifferent as usual; just observing, not saying a word. They take a step back, waving their hands out in front of them.

"It's just a pig," I say and the pig snorts. "He likes you!"

Magnolia shakes her head, her nose wrinkled in disgust. She latches herself onto Jubilee's arm, and the two girls back up some more, looking completely terrified of the pig in my arms. I'm sure the mud coated all over my face and body isn't making them happier, either.

"Y'all afraid of a little pig?" I tease, flicking my fingers at them, sending some of the mud flying in the air. Jubilee and Magnolia run off screaming, running in a zig-zag line back to the house. Mason stands there, though, looking unamused from it all. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Do you want to go for a try? It ain't that hard," I say, plopping down into the mud. The pig scurries off, running around the outer edges of the fenced-in area. "Come on."

"I'll leave that to you," he says, glancing over his shoulder, looking back at the house. Magnolia and Jubilee swing the door open, running into the house screaming. He looks back at me, then back at the house. "Where's Dalton?"

"I haven't seen him all morning," I say, shrugging. "Why?"

"Oh, nothing," Mason says, digging his foot into the dirt. He kicks it up, holding his hands behind his back. "He just said he would take me hunting today. Whatever."

"I can always take you," I say, standing back up. I grip the fence, leaning over to get closer up in Mason's face. "We'd have a good time. I'll even let you use the bow and arrow!"

But, before Mason can respond, my other brother, Jackson, comes sprinting up the hill.

"Mitzie! Mason!"

Hopping over the fence, I meet him half-way, hearing Mason come jogging behind me. Jackson is hunched over, his hands resting on his knees, and he's speaking through bated-breath. He's panting, and I place my hand on his back, shooting a glance to Mason and sticking out my tongue.

Jackson doesn't care about the dirt and mud.

It's only him.

"What happened?"

"Dalton…

"What about him?" Mason asks, pushing me out of the way. Jackson finally looks up, his hair plastered on his forehead from the sweat. "Spit it out!"

"He… The Peacekeepers…"

Then, there's another shout.

"Mitzie!"

I let go of Jackson, instantly running off to the edge of the hill. Down there, I can see Dalton attempting to get away from the Peacekeeper. The Peacekeeper has his weapon aimed for him, but Dalton turns the corner, basically launching himself towards the hill. The Peacekeeper doesn't follow him, but he still has gun aimed for him, and I grit my teeth.

_Don't shoot._

_Please, don't shoot._

When Dalton is close enough, I hold out my hand, pulling him up when he grabs it. He's out of breath too, and when I try to calm him down, he just pushes my hand away.

"What happened?!" I ask, a little more aggravated with him than Jackson. He should know better.

"Nothing that I can't handle," he says, smirking. "Calm down, Mit. I'm fine."

Looking at the two kids, I avoid commenting any further, and I drape my arm over Dalton's neck. I begin to walk away with him, and Jackson and Mason follow, but I gesture for them to go back inside. They comply, leaving me alone with Dalton.

"He could have shot you," I say, leaning him on the fence. He takes a deep breath, finally regaining some composure. "What did you do?"

Dalton shrugs his shoulders, chuckling softly. "Just me and some my friends played a little trick."

"A trick that almost got you killed."

"I'm still here, aren't I?"

"It ain't funny, Dalton," I snap, looking at him from the corner of my eye. Dalton never takes anything seriously. "Why was Jackson with you?"

"He asked if he could come," he answers nonchalantly. "Why are you making this such a big deal?"

"You brought an armed Peacekeeper to our house," I say, and I desperately try to cover up the uneasiness in my voice. Something could have happened – does he not see that?

"It won't happen again," he says, pushing me gently.

"Promise me."

"I promise, Mit."

I nod my head, tilting my head back as I roll my eyes. Time after time, I have to cover up for the shenanigans Dalton gets himself into it. And, time after time, I tell him to stop. I tell him that it's enough and that he's going to get himself in trouble one day that I won't be able to get him out of.

I can only do so much for him.

"Mason's disappointed with you," I say, and Dalton's eyes widen and he throws his head back. "Don't tell me you forget."

"Shit!" He exclaims, slamming his down on the fence. "I promise him, too."

"Yeah, you did," I say, hoping he feels bad about it. Rather than spending time with his brother who looks up to him, he had to go play a trick with his friends and Jack on a Peacekeeper. "Go apologize to him."

Dalton nods his head, beginning to walk back towards the house. I watch him leave, watching him walk with the same swagger he always does. He bobs his head and rolls his shoulders. I might love him, but he's a handful.

My whole family is a handful. Without them, I would have nothing. I would be nothing.

They made me who I am today. They made me the Mitzie Hunter that everyone knows and loves. My family is my family – mama, pop, Dalton, Mason, Jackson, Jubilee, and Magnolia. They are the ones I cherish in this District.

I wouldn't trade it for anything.

* * *

><p><strong>So, this is it for pre-reapings, next we move to reapings.<strong>

**Not much to say this time round, but we're both grateful for all the reviews we've got so far. It's great to know you're enjoying the story so far!**


	5. Reapings Part One

**Chapter Five.**

* * *

><p><strong>Reapings, Part One.<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Tiberion Wadell, 18 years old;<br>District Four Male;  
>Cashmere67.<strong>

* * *

><p>"Remember what I told you, Tiberion: Just don't embarrass yourself."<p>

"I would _never_," I say, leaning forward, my lips puckered. Thara places one finger on my lips, gently pushing my face back. I open my eyes, seeing a facetious grin on her face.

"Not until after you volunteer," she says, her tone showing me that she's more than aware of how much of a tease she's being. I lean back on my heels, tilting my head upwards and then when I come back down, I drape my arms around her.

"And what about if I win?" I ask, whispering into her ear. "What will I get then?"

"Chop-chop, you two," someone says from behind me. Thara perks her head up, rolling her eyes once she sees who it is. I turn around, my arm now around Thara's waist, and in front of us is my father. "It's time for the Reapings."

Letting go of Thara, I watch her take a step back, already wanting to hold her again. Thara slips back on her helmet, her face now being covered by a visor. It's completely black, and my father does the same, both of them looking like any other Peacekeeper now.

_Any other Peacekeeper._

_The type I'm trying to overcome. The type I want to avoid becoming._

Turning back around, I face the crowd of teenagers, and as I walk to find my place in the eighteen-year-old section, I glance back over my shoulder. When I don't see Thara anywhere, I turn back, stepping in between two boys that I could easily overcome just in case we have a problem. Things should go smoothly, but there's always the chance that someone else might want to volunteer.

I won't let them.

I've worked hard to get where I am. To go where I am about to go.

"Welcome, District Four," the escort says, her booming voice making the speakers shake, "to the Reapings for the Twentieth Annual Hunger Games!"

The escort takes a step back, holding out her hand to a screen behind her. Like every other year, they show the video about the Dark Days, the rebellion, and then the implementation of the Hunger Games. I bow my head when the video recites the pledge for Panem, like I was taught to do.

Being respectful. Being patriotic.

It's who I am.

The video comes to an end, and the escort steps forward again, approaching the female's bowl. She runs her finger along the rim of the glass bowl, waiting for the audience to quiet down and pay attention.

I take a deep breath.

_Soon. Only a few more minutes._

"Females first!" The escort screeches into the microphone, dipping her hand into the female's bowl. She holds the card up in the air, slowly and carefully tearing the piece of paper open. "Sianna Carselle."

After the name is called, two girls both step into the aisle. Only one of them can be this Sianna, though. The girl who I assume is Sianna – her face distorted as she begins to tear up, who cannot be any older than fifteen – stares at the other girl, her mouth agape. After the blonde girl to her side glances over her shoulder, she shoots a look to a group of girls. They all wave their hands, mouthing different things to the blonde girl.

"I volunteer," the blonde girl says, nodding her head confidently. She strides towards the stage, taking her time with every step that she takes. She shoots the crowd a smile, still staring at that same group of girls. "My name is Aliset Chevillar and I volunteer for the Twentieth Hunger Games."

"Very well," the escort says, patting the girl on the shoulder as she walks by her. Aliset stands there, not letting her face shift in expression. She stands there, her eyebrows narrowed, a smile on her face, bespeaking a sense of confidence. "And, now, for the males."

I'm already in the aisle before she can call out the boy's name.

Holding up my hand, I walk down the aisle, slowing down my pace as I pass two Peacekeepers. They nod their heads, their actual faces being covered from their visors. I salute them, keeping myself composed.

_This is my chance._

_To become something better._

I could've become one of them, though. One of the lowly Peacekeepers, with no status or title. With no recognition, with no power.

I still can…

_No._

_You are destined for greater things. I am destined to become a Peacekeeper Captain._

_And this… This is my final test. I will prove to them once and for all of my strength and capability. _

"Tiberion Wadell at your service," I exclaim, making sure my voice is loud enough for everyone to hear. Tiberion Wadell – it's a name that they'll want to remember. "And I volunteer."

"Another one!" The escort's perky voice makes the microphone ring, my ears tingling from the sound. She claps her hands together, holding out one of them as I approach the stage. I make my way up onto it on my own, though, and take my place next to Aliset.

"Aliset," I say facing forward, not looking down at her. She only comes up to about my shoulder, her petite body looking dainty. "Good luck."

"Tiberion," she replies, and I catch the look on her face now. The smile on her face grows wider, showing more teeth and making it beam with eagerness. "Good luck to the _both_ of us."

"May the best tribute win."

"Oh?" Aliset asks, tilting her head to the side to look at me from a side-glance. Her blonde hair falls down her shoulder, covering her face now. I hear a soft giggle, reminding me of Thara's. "We'll see about that."

"I guess we will."

_But, there's no guessing with me. I will come out victorious. I will be the best tribute._

_I volunteered for a reason. To advance myself in the Peacekeeper Academy and to make history._

_I will become a Peacekeeper Captain. All I have to do is pass my final test._

_All I have to do is win the Hunger Games._

* * *

><p><strong>Levi Rinehart, 17 years old;<br>District Five Male;  
>jakey121.<strong>

* * *

><p>Maya and Lumin stand either side of me, the three of us walking together towards the Square. The reaping seems to have affected the general buzz going through Five, replacing a sense of belonging with a belief that it's everyone for themselves.<p>

I look at my two friends, chatting animatedly to me, and to each other. It'd be good if people tried to see past the gloom and think about what they could do if they put their heads together. If they joined and appreciated that their emotions aren't their own.

Still, I don't mind being out in the open, even on such a drab affair. Occupying my mind and body with something to do is better than standing idly by and watching life drift through my fingers. Actively asserting my place amongst the throngs of lost citizens is my way of stepping up.

"D'ya think there'd be time afterwards to do something? Literally anything. My family aren't really the most celebratory gang you'd find."

I look at Lumin and laugh, thinking about how my own family adheres to the tradition of at least celebrating the fact we haven't been sentenced to an early death yet. Morbid sure, but the party undertones are a welcomed treat.

"I guess it depends what you had in mind."

"Nothing," Lumin shrugs his shoulders, "I was looking to you for an answer."

"As always." I nudge him with a laugh. Maya giggles to my left side, whilst Lumin's brow furrows, an immature frown playing across his face.

"Not always, Levi. You aren't the be all and end all of my life."

"True, true. We have Maya here," I gesture to my friend with a dramatic wave, "but come on Lumin, you'd be in jail if it weren't for me."

"I'd be having more fun if it weren't for you." He grumbles, lowering the volume of his voice. I catch onto it and shrug my shoulders, laughing to myself. We all know we get along because we have each other's backs, not because there's one of us who's better than the other. Everyone has their role in life, and my role happens to be the backbone to whatever Lumin wants to do, or Maya has inside her head.

If someone is there to offer the voice, anything is really possible.

"I hate this day," Maya says, her voice fragile with worry. I smile sadly in her direction, meeting her anxious gaze.

"We all do, but there's not much we can really do to stop it. All we have to do is focus on getting through it and thinking the next one won't be for another year." My words catch on to a nearby group of kids a few years younger than us. They shake their heads with a sorrowful sort of dedication and move along.

It doesn't matter if I can't get through to everyone, if I can make an impact on the people closest to me in some way, then I know my time has been spent wisely. And each little outcome only leads to a bigger reward – it's a chain that works in my life. Help in some way, you'll get something back, help in another way, you'll get something even greater in return.

If I can please my friends, they'll be there for me too. Always.

"You could say everything's going to be alright," Lumin pipes up from next to me, as we sort ourselves into the queue, moving along as each person is processed forwards.

"No I can't. Why promise something that I can't control?"

"Because it's nice."

"All I can really say is that the chances of us being reaped are next to zero. So take that as a promise that everything will be alright, rather than me saying it will for certain."

"Sure." Lumin waves me off, but I catch the grin on his face. Maya thanks me and that's it, soon enough we're ushered forwards and split apart, me and Lumin in one direction, Maya waving us away as she skirts to the right to fit in with her own section near the back.

People allow us a way through to somewhere in the middle, away from the aisle. I like to have a clear view of what's happening, but not where I can literally see two people's lives change for the worse. That's not what I want to focus on right now.

I want to commit more to how I can improve my own life, rather than see people my age or younger have theirs shattered by the drawing of a name. It's not fair, but in this world, you have to work to even come close to that.

Lumin sighs dramatically when the Mayor begins the Treaty. I laugh quietly, then fall to silence as the expected hush blankets the Square.

We all stand, hooked to his words, even though we've heard them so often. Once the spiel about unity is over and done with, our Escort wastes no time in hurrying on stage, announcing her name, and drawing the first slip.

"It won't be Maya," Lumin whispers, shaking his head.

"It won't," I say, nodding with confidence. _I hope not._

"Juliette Durand!"

We all turn to see the crying girl shaking up to the stage. A few people murmur to one another, but most empathize with how she must be feeling and allow her a moment of silence. Even if most, if not all of us, know the Durand family, it doesn't make it any less sad for what's happened to them.

Juliette tries to hold the tears in by covering her face, and that's that.

"It won't be me. It won't be you." Lumin says, louder this time, trying to piece together his own confidence in our chances.

_It won't be Lumin._

_It won't be me._

_It can't be._

"Levi Rinehart!"

"It is you…" Lumin's voice warbles out and breaks.

I look at him, then look up at the stage, the Escort waiting for me to arrive and take my place. I barely make a sound as I slide out from where I'm standing, making my way up to the stage.

If anything, I'm too shocked to express myself externally like Juliette. Too disappointed knowing what I've tried to build up here, could all fall apart because of…

Because I could...

_Die. _

I don't want to die.

When next to the Escort, I shake her hand, smiling courteously. If she, or anyone, expects me to die willingly. Or go down without a fight. Well, they can think again.

Everyone fights in their own way in Five. This is just more literal, deadlier, with a bigger impact on who you are.

If you lose, you die.

I can't lose.

I can't die.

_And I won't._

I shake Juliette's hand, stand next to her, and look out into the District, trying to appear the way I know someone with potential should look like.

I have that potential inside of me. It's just about how I use it.

I can do this.

I know I can.

* * *

><p><strong>Rebekah Amare, 17 years old;<br>District Seven Female;  
>Cashmere67.<strong>

* * *

><p>"That's it for today, 'Bekah," the older man says, his beard slicked back onto his skin from the sweat. He runs his forearm along his nose, sniffling. "Don't you be too late for the Reapings."<p>

"You sure?" I ask, leaning up from sawing away at the log. Placing down the saw, I brush off the saw dust from my pants, trying to look somewhat presentable for the Reapings. "I'm already behind in hours this month…"

"Don't worry about it," he says, nodding his head. He waves his hand as a gesture. "You'll make it up some other time."

I sigh, nodding my head. Scooping up my small pouch with my hands, I wave good-bye to everyone, hoping that I do, in fact, make it up some time. With all of the lumberjacks being released lately, I don't want to risk losing my job. I can't lose my job; I have too many people that benefit my own wage.

He's right, though. I'll make it up some other time.

_That's only if I'm not reaped. That's if I am able to come back and work._

_That's if I'm not dead._

Shaking my head, I raise my hand and wave good-bye to two people walking by, both of them carrying axes. They raise their eyebrows and then go back to chatting among themselves. I make it back to the road, and as I walk down the dirt path, I inhale deeply. Of all days, this is the worst possible one where I could be this tense. This tense over the Reapings, over me possibly losing my job, over everything that's wrong in District Seven.

_Brighten up._

_It could be worse._

"Rebekah!"

I stop short, letting whoever is calling my name catch up with me. Jonas makes his way towards me, carrying something in his hands. I look up at him and then glance down at my pouch, knowing that I didn't forget anything.

"Your pay," he says, grabbing my hand and opening it. He drops the coins into it, and I count over them quickly, seeing that there are a few too many. I tilt my head, trying to remember all of the hours I worked today. "They said not to worry about it. It's a bonus for being ever-so diligent."

"Thanks," I say, pouring the coins into my pouch. I begin to walk again, and Jonas trails behind me, humming a soft tune to himself. "Someone's being annoying today. What's your problem?"

"Problem?" He asks, jogging so that he's standing next to me. "What's _yours_?"

We reach the outer-part of the Justice Building and the Reaping area. I shrug, tying the string of the pouch around my wrist. He continues to hum, and I walk right past him, bumping shoulders. He throws his hands up in the air dramatically, and I fail to repress a smirk.

"Nothing," I say, walking away from him, the humming sound drifting away. "I just want today to be over."

Slipping through the side of the girl's section, I find my way to the place where all of the seventeen-year-olds stand. I stand there, gazing out around the crowd. On the other side, I see my brothers, Cyrus and Kol. They're standing there, their height making them stand out above the rest. Side-by-side, they look around, smiling at anyone who looks there way.

I wave at them.

And they wave back.

_Not them, _I think. _Just not them._

_They don't deserve to be reaped._

"Welcome, District Seven!" The escort exclaims into the microphone, catching my attention. My eyes are drawn to the stage, seeing the woman donned in colorful attire. "To the Reapings for the Twentieth Annual Hunger Games!"

Behind her, a screen begins to play the same movie we see every year. I glance back at Cyrus and Kol, and after they don't look at me, I try to find Jonas. He's standing in the back, scratching his neck, not paying much attention to the movie. When the movie finally ends, the escort taps on the microphone, the ringing sound making me wince.

"Let's begin with the females," the escort says, shaking her hand in the bowl. After a few seconds, she chooses one card, holding it up in the air. She waves it around, closes her eyes, and then opens it. "Our female for this year is…. Rebekah Amare!"

My first instinct is to shout.

To run. To scream.

To get out of here.

But, when I see everyone looking at me, I stop myself. I take a deep breath, not wanting to look at Cyrus, Kol, or Jonas. I don't want to look at anyone. With one deeper inhale and exhale, I close my eyes, walking right out onto the aisle. The crowd is silent and I begin to walk forward, resisting the urge to ball my fingers up into fists.

_Don't show them how angry you are._

_Keep it to yourself like you always have._

With a steady stride, I walk up to the stage, trying to come off as indifferent. Like none of this matters, like everything I have worked for in life is now going to go to waste. I stand next to the escort, staring out into the crowd, not letting my eyes drift towards the boys' section.

I can't look at them.

I'll break down if I do.

The escort walks over to the boy's bowl, doing the same thing she did for the girls. She picks out a card, holds it in the air, and then opens it. For a quick second, I let myself glance at Cyrus, Kol, and Jonas.

And, when I do, I immediately regret it.

The looks on their faces… It makes me even angrier.

My jaw clenches, my fingers tense up, and my cheeks begin to get red. I try to shake those feelings – those emotions – away, but they remain, only intensifying as I watch Cyrus and Kol lean into one another.

_They already lost so much. They already lost mother and Nikolaus._

_They won't lose another family member._

_They aren't going to lose me._

* * *

><p><strong>Remy Prynne, 14 years old;<br>District Twelve Female;  
>jakey121.<strong>

* * *

><p>I take a shortcut to the Square, through the back allies and around the main buildings. With it being the reaping, the quicker I get there, the quicker I can focus on nothing going wrong. It will be alright. It always has been, always will be.<p>

Everything, in some shape or form, turns out to be better than someone might believe. The reaping is just that. We're terrified of it as a country, but when you think about it in terms of only two children every year, two out of hundreds, even thousands, being taken… it's really not that many.

I turn round a corner, my hands in my pockets, whistling to myself. It's a bit dark with the buildings curving over one another, almost scraping for the limited space we have here in Twelve. Like the people, the buildings themselves are fighting to survive.

When my feet splash into a puddle, sending water droplets up and against my skirt, I sigh and stop the merry little tune playing in my head. Instead, I continue on in silence, forcing a slight quiver of a smile onto my jaw. Anything to appease myself of these nerves. I don't do well thinking things are going to be bad, when things always turn out to be the best they can be.

The reaping does hurt people, I'm not trying to ignore that, but when I put it in terms of how they can affect me, what the chances are, then I have every right to be as happy as I can. Content, really. Content with life, despite how bad it can get.

Once I reach the very edge of an alleyway, I hear a quiet scuffling up ahead, shoes on concrete, a muffled sort of moaning. Once the darkness clears and gives way to the brief flickers of light coming from the main road of the District, I see two figures hunched over. One of them has his hand against the brick wall, the other is rolling around in the puddles, filthy from head to toe.

Without caring who, or what their situation is, I hurry over to them and extend a hand.

"Oh my… are you alright?" Maybe I'm meddling in something I don't know, but it's like an instinct. Like my brother can't help but bite back with the rudest thing he can think of on the spot, I want to do this. Offer my support, even in places where it might not be accepted.

Luckily he seems like he needs the help and takes my small hand in his calloused palm, struggling to gain purchase on the ground with his worn boots.

"Thanks. You feeling ok?" He directs his question to the man leaning against the wall, nursing his head.

"Do you want me to fetch someone? I will, I don't mind."

"Nah kiddo it's fine, you know this District, no one will give a rat's ass about two drunk deadbeats."

"That's not true. I give a rat's… behind."

The two of them laugh. I start to feel embarrassment flush my face with a warmth that makes my forehead start to sweat. Instead, however, one of them flings an arm round my shoulders and offers me a crooked, yellow-toothed smile.

"You get yourself to the reaping. I wouldn't want you getting punished for our sorry sake. Thanks, though. We appreciate the help."

I nod, accept what they have to say, and skip on out into the open, ash-clogged air of Twelve. Before I know it, I'm being ushered through and into the Square, a cog in the system, nothing but a faceless figure herded towards the death of two more children.

_No. _I shake my head, smiling to myself. I won't think like that. This might be a cause for people to get upset, but it's also a place to really appreciate life. How we all need to hold onto what we love and cherish and remember what we have, rather than what we don't have.

I squeeze myself into the line of fourteen year olds and focus in on the Square, ignoring the fear polluting the air and focus in on how beautiful the Escort looks this year. Dressed in pink from head to toe, she's like a beacon amongst the grey and black bleakness of our District.

The Mayor goes through all the pre amble that none of us care about. Someone bumps up against me, but when I turn, I smile and whisper a hello to my one and true friend Ashlyn. We don't have many people here – no matter how many people we've really met around the place.

It's good to always have someone. Someone to love. Someone to look after.

"And now, for the girls…" Her hand dances across the rim of the bowl, picking up one slip, putting it down, then picking up another. Someone groans to my left. Another girl shushes her. I watch, entranced as a name is finally decided upon and unfolded.

"Good luck, Remy."

"Good luck, Ashlyn."

I grip onto her shoulder and close my eyes. Another year gone… another year where I'm safe…

"Remy Prynne!"

_Oh._

_Oh dear…_

Ashlyn only stares at me when my eyes find hers, widened, tears welling up, leaving a streak down her pale cheeks.

"It's… alright Ashlyn… it's alright…"

I can't stop my rapid breathing all the way up to the stage. _Think about something else.. Think about something else… _I close my eyes once the Escort kisses me on both cheeks and ball my hands into small fists.

_Smile. _I smile, I keep on smiling. It might look odd, it might not hold back the way I really feel, the sudden bout of anger muffled by a rooted anguish that threatens to break me completely.

So many questions about why and how rage through my head, but all I can do is hold them back, mute the dark voices and focus on how I still had these fourteen years.

I've lived fourteen years. A life not perfect, but my life, and it was a good one for what it was worth.

If that's not motivation enough to come back, to remember what I have waiting, I don't know what is.

It's enough for me. To remember how I've lived, to remember how I can continue with it in Twelve, only better and brighter.

_Win. Win and come home._

I will.

I have to.

I have a life here.

I can't give it up.

* * *

><p><strong>A day early with the last chapter, a day late with this one. It balances out? Maybe? But yeah, hi, hope you like the first of the two reaping chapters.<strong>

**Halfway through this Pre-Capitol stuff, then the more interesting chapters begin. So yeah, see you with the next chapter.**


	6. Reapings Part Two

**Chapter Six.**

* * *

><p><strong>Reapings, Part Two.<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Sierra Lange, 18 years old;<br>District Two Female;  
>jakey121.<strong>

* * *

><p>His hand is like a vice round my shoulder, pushing me back into the wall, breath a pungent cloud in my face. I keep my composure, rising up on the heels of my feet, levelling my eyes with his.<p>

"Father, I'd very much like it if you would let go of me."

"I will, _dear,_" he spits out the word, like it's venom on his tongue. I'm no dear of his. And he's no father to me. We wear our masks for reputation, rather than love. "I hope you aren't planning on backing out, though. Your mother and I would be very… disappointed."

I squirm out from his grip and push back, gently at first, testing my limits. He throws a sickly sweet smile in my direction and straightens his back, gritting his teeth.

"As a matter of fact, you and mother can expect the best from me. I'm doing this for myself, though, not you two." I sweep past him, hair flipping over my shoulder, and with a charming wave in his direction, I give him one last laugh. "Hope to see you soon."

Once out the door, I let out half a panicked sigh, and half a giggle. The moment I'm down the steps and into the crowd moving for the Square, all restraint and fear on my part, vanishes all together. I don't have to be scared of that man – I don't have to be scared of anyone. I'm volunteering because I know I'm ready for it, I'm volunteering because I know I can win, and if someone plans on trying to bully their way into my care, they can think again.

I do things for myself.

Me, and me alone.

"Sierra!" I turn at the sound of my name. Rising above the joyous murmurs coming from around us, her voice hits a volume people turn for. I laugh and wrap my arms round her shoulders, Danila placing her chin in the crook of my neck. We stand, embracing for a comfortable second, before it dips into awkwardness and I pull away.

"So, looking forward to the reaping?"

She looks embarrassed. Her face has gone a startling shade to match her hair. But Danila is always there for me, like I try to be there for her. Maybe she's the only person who can get through to me on a more personal note – the only person I try to accept can be, and will always be, somewhere close to my level.

I care for her, at least. That's enough for now.

"I'm scared for you," she falters, before smiling when my eyes start to narrow, "but excited! I know you can do this, you're Sierra Lange after all!"

"That's right," I link arms with her, the two of us walking side by side, heels clicking against the ground, my hair straight against my back, "I am Sierra Lange. I will miss you though."

Before she can respond to what I have to say, a loud, dry laugh stops me in my tracks, bringing Danila to a halt with me.

We both turn, in unison, to come face to face with Veronica, a fellow trainer at the Academy. I flick my hair over one shoulder and relax my shoulders, titling my head ever so slightly, with a warm, but ready smile on my face.

"Veronica. Nice to see you."

"Sierra. I thought it was you, the stench gives you away." She tilts her head to match my own, her eyes gazing once over Danila, before she casts her off as something insignificant.

I don't rise to what she has to say, even if more than anything, she's on a pedestal I'd love to snatch from beneath her feet. Kick her to the dirt. Make her see herself for who she really is, make her see me for who I really am.

After all, we're on two total different levels. I was chosen as the volunteer. Veronica means nothing to no one.

"Oh Veronica, always a tease." I hit her shoulder away with a giggle, turning to Danila. "You remember Veronica, don't you? We were just talking about you."

"Oh, were you?"

_No, but you'd like that, wouldn't you? You self-centred bitch._

"We were just saying how it's good to know that if I back out of volunteering, Danila does, and the three hundred chosen before you do, the Academy still has someone to rely on."

"Excuse me-"

Before she can say another word, I flip my hair once more and walk away, heading for the Square.

Danila and I mutter to one another, but my mind is distant, focusing not just on Veronica, but everyone here. They see me the way I want them to see me. I do enjoy the presence of other people, no matter their insignificance, because in a way, it is nice to be able to speak and share what I have to say.

I'm a people person.

But I can tell what they're always thinking, what they hide behind their eyes, their smiles, and their bitchy attitudes. Their insecurities. What they don't want us to know.

Maybe that's why I was chosen. I'm not only strong enough to take down my opponents physically, but mentally, I can tear them down just as easily.

"It's starting," Danila nudges me in the side, gesturing with her head to the stage.

Time always seems to fly by when I'm focused on something, and now that we're in the Square, once the film on the screen is over, the Escort walks for the bowl with a perfectly horrific smile on her face. She pulls one out, knowing what's about to happen, and calls out a name in an overly sweet tone.

Danila looks at me once, bites her bottom lip, but rethinks her doubt and offers me a confident nod.

Because she should be confident in me.

I know what I'm doing.

I will win this.

"I volunteer!"

Once I'm out in the aisle and all eyes are on me, I soak in the attention and skip up to the stage, offering a wave to the camera and a smile to the Escort. Though she's the last person I'd want to consort with, I play it up anyway, shaking her hand and standing proudly by her side.

If I look the part, I am the part.

_I'm confident._

_I can do this, I will do this, and then everyone will see. I might have been their friend once, but I'll be no one's friend in the Arena._

_They'll see me for me._

What I can do, no one can rival.

I'll be my allies ally until it suits me. I'll be their friend, even when everyone I know will always be my enemy.

I can play the part well, I always have.

_Bring it on._

* * *

><p><strong>Ilise Massey, 14 years old;<br>District Eight Female;  
>jakey121.<strong>

* * *

><p>We sit together, huddled up against the back wall of the bakery, watching people walk on by with their heads low and smiles non-existent.<p>

"When do you think we should leave?" Anya looks round the corner of the wall, her eyes nervously gazing out at the crowds that join one another, second after second the congregation increasing.

"Whenever," I shrug my shoulders with a grin on my face. I'm not in a rush to go to the Square – I want to be with my friends, I want to savour our conversation, the fact they can smile, they can laugh, they can be everything I need when other people can't.

"Don't you think we'll get in trouble?"

"If we stopped doing things that could get us in trouble we'd be sitting indoors all our life." My friends laugh with me, agreeing, because we can't let this get us down. Not all the time. I look at a particularly grey covered family, all wearing the same tattered clothing, huddled like we are, only reflecting frowns instead of smiles.

I wish there was something we could do, collectively, to inject a bit of spark into today. It doesn't mean we have to forget what's happening, but we can distract ourselves.

Everyone needs a distraction from time to time.

"So," Sheryl, my younger friend, leans in with a cheeky smirk on her face. "What's the latest, Ilise? It's been _ages _since you told us anything."

"About?" My cheeks start to go warm, knowing all too well where the topic is heading. Still, I like talking, chattering away about anything, no matter where it goes.

This is just another excuse to forget and drift away.

"You know." It's Anya's turn to nudge my arm, laughing with her younger sister and Sheryl. "How's lover boy?"

"He's-" I pause, flushed with embarrassment. "He's not my lover boy. That's disgusting, we're like, fourteen."

"Boyfriend then."

"He's not my boyfriend, we're just friends." I take in their stares, waiting for more. We practically live off each other's lives, when one of us has a secret to tell, or something exciting to share, it's part of our mutual understanding we don't hold it back. If my day is particularly boring, I know I'd like it if one of my friends had something to draw me away from it.

"Oh come," Anya rolls her eyes, swatting away her younger sister, who only frowns and crosses her arms round her chest. "You _luuuuv _him."

"He's cute alright, but no, no I don't _luuuuv _him. We're friends."

"So you think he's cute."

"Yes," I blush again, laughing out loud. "Don't you think so?"

The two of them shrug, giggling together, letting their eyes drift over my head and back into the sea of District Eight, bunched up tight together, not a gap to be seen. I stand up, seeing a Peacekeeper glare at the four of us from across the road, high and mighty compared to everyone else below him.

"Er, yeah," I point him out to my friends with a worried frown, "we should probably get going."

"Took the words right out of my mouth."

We all stand up and join the masses, holding each other's hands so we aren't swept apart from one another. Most people are decent enough to stick to themselves, but with this many people all moving for the same event, the same destination, it's easy to get lost and caught up.

I don't think I'd be able to handle today by myself. I can't even handle school without having to have a friend nearby. There's just something about knowing there's another person next to you who you can live your life with – share your secrets, impart your worries, knowing they'll be there to help and you'll be there to help them straight back.

I feel Anya's little sister take my hand, squeezing it, her eyes twinkling with fresh tears. I stroke my thumb across the back of her hand, smiling at her, as brightly as I can.

"It'll be alright, you'll see." She tries to match my grin, only for her lips to twitch once, then fall into a frown. "You'll see."

Once we reach the Square, she's herded off towards the twelve year old section, Sheryl helping her there, before heading off to her own. Anya and I stick to each other, as close as we can, moving for the fourteen year olds.

People greet us as we pass them. I return it just as enthusiastically, skipping over to a place near the aisle, peering out and up to the stage. It's awfully scary. I've handled two reapings so far, believing that if I try to be brave, I can get through it. This isn't an exception.

This is just another time for me to be myself.

We try to keep as quiet as we can, whispers going to and fro between Anya and I as the film goes on, displayed proudly across the largest screen we've seen in a long time. I don't care for what they have to show – it's never interested me, and I doubt it ever will.

But once the Escort heads for the first bowl, dragging her finger along the rim, toying with the slips, I keep my back rigid and stare out to the stage. _Smile, smile and everything will be alright. Everything will be the same as ever – fine. Fine. Fine. Fine._

"Ilise Massey, darling, come on up!"

Anya's hand slips from mine.

I look at her, my chest tightening, pain coursing up through my throat. _Is this what it's like? All those poor girls, hearing their names? Oh god, it can't be me. Not me. Not me!_

"Ilise Massssssey!"

I struggle to make it up halfway, my breathing coming out sharp and painful. Tears brim at the corners of my eyes, threatening to spill over and broadcast my weakness to the whole of Panem. I can't let that happen.

I can't. I won't.

When I see Sheryl, then Anya's little sister, her cheeks bright red, tears pouring down her face and too the concrete at her feet, I offer her a smile and finish my journey onto the stage.

If I can focus on controlling my emotions, I have this. I know I do.

If I can live my life, believing things will be alright, I can believe a little bit longer and make them come true.

I've been reaped – not everything goes to plan. But most things do in my life. I have control, or some level of control over what's about to happen to me.

The escort calls out the male name but I tune it out, focusing on the area behind the Square, the sky in the distance, the birds chirping without a care in the world.

I have fight in me – not the kind of fight required in a tribute, but if I try, anything is possible. _Right?_

No. No it has to be.

I have to believe.

If I don't, I'll lose.

And I can't lose.

_I can't die._

* * *

><p><strong>Sadia Garris, 18 years old;<br>District Nine Female;  
>Cashmere67.<strong>

* * *

><p>I hum a tune, clicking my tongue on the off-beat.<p>

Swiping the back of my hand along my forehead, I wipe off the sweat and push back my hair. The sun is high in the sky, with the heat beating down on my back and the gentle morning breeze already subsided. Grabbing the sickle with one hand, I cradle a basket in the other, slashing away at the bottom of the grain stalks.

They fall into the basket, and I bundle them up in a bushel and tie string around it.

"That's more like it," I say, holding my hand over my eyes as I look at the sun. It's definitely later in the afternoon, seeing as everyone else around me has gone home and the sun has moved a few more degrees to the right. "Oh."

Pressing the basket up against my chest, I take off into a light jog, heading back to the farm. I pass by rows and rows of grain, the heat still overwhelming me, but it's nothing I'm not used to. When I reach the farmhouse, I drop the basket at the front of it, only giving myself a moment of rest to pull back my hair.

Not that I _do _care about my appearance, but I wouldn't want to embarrass District Nine by looking like a disheveled mess on public television. That'd be outrageous, wouldn't it?

I snicker.

This whole District is outrageous, if you ask me. This whole country is, really.

Only a few feet from the farmhouse is a main road where people are already headed towards the Justice Building. I zig-zag through the crowd, trying to see if anyone I know is around. Most people would assume I'm talking about Rynne, but as of lately, I've tried to be friendlier.

I like to keep my options open.

In front of me are two girls, one with blonde hair in a bun and the other with long dark brown hair. They are chatting away, their high-pitched voices grating on my nerves, but I stay behind them, listening in on their conversation.

"I heard that Leora is one of those – excuse my language – whores."

"Really?" The blonde asks, strutting her shoulders as she pops out her hip with every step. "I heard she's a drug addict."

Picking up the pace, I stand right behind them, not giving either of them a second to respond without intruding.

"That's not what I heard. Well, actually, I know that both of you aren't right," I say, butting my nose into their conversation. They both turn around, peering at me, and I haven't even seen either of them before. The blonde girl has her nose wrinkled, and I make a gesture, expressing my contempt for her attitude. "She's neither of those things. She's just trying to live her life, and she definitely doesn't need girls like you spreading rumors about her."

And, with that, I back up and go around them.

I shake my head. I hate people who don't know what they're talking about. I hate people who are ignorant, to say the least.

As soon as I get to the Justice Building, I make my way through the other seventeen-year-old girls, pushing past whoever needs to be pushed past. I position myself, and as I stand there, the video begins to play. The Dark Days, the rebellion, the Hunger Games.

Everything that shows how messed up this country is.

Everything that is _wrong _with this country.

"Let's begin with females," the escort says as soon as the video ends. She picks a card out of the bowl, and for a moment, I imagine what it would be like if my name was on that card.

What if I_ were_ Reaped for the Hunger Games?

What if…

"Sadia Garris!"

_Oh._

I stand there, motionless, refusing to take my first step into the aisle. I look up, noticing that everyone's eyes are on me, all awaiting my next move. They're probably asking themselves: Will she cry? Will she scream? Will she run?

_No._

_I will walk up there like I am supposed to._

Standing in the aisle, I force a smile on my face, feeling my lips fight back, wanting to turn into a frown. I swallow any surge of emotion – nervousness, disbelief – and push it down into my stomach. I don't need to feel that.

Emotions won't get me anywhere.

They won't help me survive.

"Come on up here, dear!" The escort says, stepping to the side as I walk up the stairs. I look her in the eyes, taking one finger and brushing the hair out of my face. I put it behind my ear, the smile on my face beginning to tremble.

_They're all watching me._

_Emotions mean weakness. Weakness means death._

"Stand here, darling," the escort says, tapping her foot in one spot. I stand there, looking out into the crowd, already wanting the boy to be called up. I just want to see who I'll be accompanied with. The escort takes her time picking a card, and before she opens it, she turns to me and waves it.

Even as she speaks, I don't let the smile falter even for a second.

This smile… This is what will keep me going.

This smile is what will keep me fighting to live on. To win. To keep myself alive.

I see it like this: We only have one life. One chance in this world to make the most of it, to die contently and without any regrets. So, why then, would I waste my life worrying about others? Why would I waste my life putting someone's needs before mine?

Why would I waste my life doing nothing? Being lazy and lethargic? Accomplishing _nothing_?

It doesn't make sense to me.

I might only have one life, but one life for me _is_ enough.

One life is all I need to make something happen.

One life is all I need to be proud of myself.

_This one life… It's all I need._

_And I don't intend on wasting it._

* * *

><p><strong>Armity Selsun, 17 years old;<br>District Ten Female;  
>Cashmere67.<strong>

* * *

><p>Naomi giggles as Brand and I lift her up, her feet dangling in the air.<p>

As she pushes off both of our hands, Naomi leaps forward, landing on her feet, and as she turns around, my hand finds Brand's. We intertwine fingers, and his thumb gently grazes the top of my hand. I smile at the gesture, and Naomi waves for us to hurry up, already scampering ahead of us.

"It's her first reaping," Brand says with a calm voice, seemingly stating a fact rather than making an opinion on it.

"She doesn't know any better," I say, gripping his hand tighter in mine. "She's young. Let her keep this innocence."

"You're right," Brand says, nodding his head, looking at me. "It just sucks."

"I know the feeling," I say, knowing that I'm sure my own brother was just as worried when I had my first reaping. He might only be a year younger, but ever since dad died… He took his place. He was protective over me. "But, hey! Let's not worry about that. She'll be fine."

"I hope so," he says timidly. "I really, really hope so."

I bite down on my lower-lip, feeling my hands starting to get clammy. We turn the corner, seeing Naomi meeting up with one of her friends, the two of them throwing their heads back in a fit of laughter. Naomi's pig-tails dangle on her back, and when she sees us behind her, she waves, going off with her friend.

They run to the front of the girl's section, squeezing in between everyone and finding a place. When we reach the Justice Building, we stop walking, facing each other. Brand averts his eyes, looking down at the ground, and kicks his foot into the dirt.

When he looks back up, I smile.

He smiles too, but this smile seems off. He seems scared.

"I know you're worried for her," I say. "I am worried for her, too."

"It's just that…," he says, trailing off. "I'm too old for the reapings now and that makes me feel even more useless, Armity."

"I won't let anything happen to her, okay?"

"Okay."

I release my hand from his, wrapping my arms around his neck. We stand there, hugging, and when the escort taps her finger on the microphone to make sure it's working, we separate. I smile now, and this time, he smiles back. A real, genuine smile. A Brand smile that I know and adore.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

Brand turns around and goes to the spectator's section. I wait until he finds a spot, and he waves, blowing me a kiss. I smile, turning around to find a place of my own in the girl's section. There are girls all around me, but I try to find where Naomi is, already knowing I probably won't because she's too short. It would just make me feel better, though, if I saw her.

I just need her to be safe.

That's all I ask for.

Behind the escort, a screen begins to show the video that we see every year. I can't help but look over my shoulder, still seeing Brand stand there, the apprehensive look on his face not making me feel any better. I don't want to be worried anymore.

_She will be fine_, I tell myself. _She will be._

"Ladies first," the escort booms into the microphone once the video is over. She walks over towards the girl, takes out a card, and I close my eyes, crossing my fingers that it's not Naomi.

_Please._

_Please do not be her._

"Naomi Krenall!"

I gasp.

Naomi shrieks.

Immediately, I scan the girls in front of me, trying to find Naomi somewhere in front. Then, I see a group disperse, moving to the side, leaving Naomi in the center. I stand there for a moment, holding my breath, and once I glance at Brand, I begin to push through the girls.

I can't let his sister die… I can't let that happen.

_I have to do something about it._

He would be broken if she died. _I _would be broken if I let Naomi die.

"I volunteer," I state, placing my hand on Naomi's back. She looks up, sniffling and rubbing the tears away from under her eyes. "I volunteer to replace Naomi Krenall as tribute."

"Come on up, sweetie!" The escort says, waving her hand, gesturing for me to come up to the stage. I nod my head as Naomi still cries, walking up to the stage with a steady stride. I don't smile. I don't frown.

I let my face show my determination. My toughness. My resilience.

Walking up the stairs onto the stage, I turn around, feeling the escort wrap her hand around mine. I stare forward, and once Brand and I lock eyes, I nod again. He might not understand this – why I volunteered – but he does understand that Naomi wouldn't have survived out there.

I will, though. I can survive on my own.

And, when I come back, Brand will then understand my decision. He'll understand why I volunteered at all – it's more than just volunteering for his sister. I'm doing this for him… I'm doing this for _us_.

The escort is at the male's bowl now, dipping her hand in and picking out a card. I keep my facial expressions to a minimum as I stare forward, looking away from Brand. I'll see him during the good-byes and then I'll try to get him to understand.

I'll get him to understand that I am going to do whatever I can to return home.

I'm not going to go down without a fight. I _refuse _togo down without a fight.

I'm prepared for this. I'm prepared to fight. I'm prepared to survive.

I'm not going to die there. I volunteered… I know what I'm getting myself into.

I know what I'm going to get myself _out _of, too.

_This is what I've always wanted. This is my chance._

_For Naomi. For Brand. For my father._

_I'm going to win for them._

* * *

><p><strong>And that's it for reapings. Up next, goodbyes! Let us know what you thought of these four.<strong>


	7. Goodbyes Part One

**Chapter Seven.**

* * *

><p><strong>Goodbyes, Part One.<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Calaise Therian, 18 years old;<br>District One Female;  
>Cashmere67.<strong>

* * *

><p>"Darling!"<p>

My mother barges through the door, the aroma of her perfume already making my head ache. She wraps her arms around me, the jewels on her necklace being imbedded into my skin. I hesitantly wrap my hands around her, patting her, and when she releases me, she holds onto my arms, staring at me. Her long nails dig into my skin, and she grips tighter, the smile on her face growing.

The expression on her face… It's showing everything I can't stand about this woman.

I look into her dark blue eyes, the eyeliner and eye shadow only furthering her artificiality. The shade of pink around her lips, the lipstick that's smudged onto her teeth. The blush on her cheeks. The diamond earrings, necklace, and bracelets.

Glancing down at her hand, I see that she's taken off her ring. I refrain from rolling my eyes, already noticing the irony that my father isn't here at the moment.

"Where's dad?" I ask, and she averts her eyes, frowning, and when she looks back at me, the smile returns. "He had some business to deal with it. He's very busy this time of year."

_Busy._

_Busy cheating on you and screwing another woman._

_Busy tearing this family apart. _

"Enough about him!" She exclaims, waving her hands expressively. She's only doing that to draw attention away from my father, the man that's ruined this family from the inside out. He's the reason we're like this in the first place. And, really, she isn't any better.

She's just as bad as he is.

She's weak. Shallow. Controlling.

_Is that where I get it all from? Is she the reason I'm like this?_

"I'm so proud of you, sweetheart," she says, all giddy. She curls her fingers into her palms, shaking again, the beaming smile on her face making me look away and feel embarrassed for her. In a way, I'm glad father isn't he to see her like this.

If he was, maybe then he'd realize how little she cares about him and their marriage. She never got this excited about going out on a date with him.

"Thank you," I reply, feeling obligated to do so. _You are the reason I volunteered in the first place, _I think to myself, grinning as I watch my mother fanatically express her gratitude for my volunteering. _I volunteered to get away from you._

_To get away from my sisters._

_To get away from all of your judgments. From you all constantly scrutinizing me about the way I dress, act, and think. _

"Why aren't you more excited?!" She asks, gripping her fingers around my arm again, leaning forward to kiss me on the forehead. I feel the make-up that's plastered on her lips rub off onto my skin, and when she pulls away, I see her lipstick even more smudged. "Come on, honey! Everyone's going to be talking about you!"

"Why?" I ask, gulping. People talk about me enough, don't they? _Especially my own family._

"You volunteered, Calaise!" She says, her peppy voice only becoming grating now. "I… I don't even know what to say! I'm just so, _so _excited for you!"

I smile.

Suppressing a sneer, I look away, glancing out the window. I look back at my mother, and although she still has the smile plastered on her face, she tilts her head to the side, raising one of her drawn on eyebrows. She shakes her head, the smile turning into something more… _judgmental._

_As if I'm doing something wrong._

_What now, mother?_

_What is now?_

"Where's Carina, Chantal, and Colette?" I ask, finding it odd that not one of my own sisters came to say good-bye to me. Will they be becoming individually after her?

_Probably not._

_They never cared much about me, either._

"Carina's with her hubby, and so is Chantal," my mother says, shrugging her shoulders, her curled hair bobbing up and then down. "I haven't seen Colette much this morning."

_You haven't seen your own daughter "much this morning."_

_What kind of mother are you?_

There's a knock on the door.

My mother tosses her head back, holding her hands up front of her. She kisses me on the forehead again, and then on the cheek, and then on the other cheek. She shakes her hands in front of her, bringing her finger to her eye to wipe the make-up underneath it. As my mother leaves the room, she blows a kiss at me, and although it's petty, I step out of the way.

I dodge her artificial kiss. It's almost as fake as she is.

Before the door closes, my next visitor steps in, and when I see it's Colette, I smile for the first time today. I smile genuinely, walking over to her as she closes the door slowly. It clicks shut, and she wraps her arms around me, hugging me tightly.

"Colette," I say, resting my chin on the top of her head. "I'm really happy to see you."

"Why did you volunteer?" She asks, and I step back, kneeling down to get face-to-face with her. She stands there, a confused expression on her face. "Why are you going to leave me?"

_I'm leaving because it will benefit us both. If I win, I can take us both away._

_We can live in the Victor's Village together. Away from our parents and siblings._

"You will see," I say, unsure of how to explain it to her. She gets that volunteering means going off into the arena; my mother has already drilled that into her head. Colette's nearly on the same path I was on at age fourteen.

I can't let her continue down that path, though.

I don't want her to turn out like _me_.

"But…," she says, her voice trailing off as she buries her head into my shoulder. She sits there, and although she begins to whimper, I can't let her see me sad, too. I have to be strong for her. I have to be confident for her. "I'm going to miss you, Calaise."

"I'm going to miss you too."

"Who will take me shopping?" She asks, looking up at me, tears in her eyes. I wipe them away with my finger, brushing back her hair with my fingers. "Who is going to take me for walks?"

"Chantal will do it while I'm gone."

"No she won't," Colette replies, shaking her hand with a pout. "She's always with that boy. The one with the money. She won't hang out with me."

I shudder.

_Chantal is exactly who I don't want her to become. It's who I didn't want to become, either._

_And that's why I'm here. It's why I volunteered in the first place._

I volunteered to show everyone that I'm confident. That I'm beautiful and talented.

That I'm the girl my District wants to be.

I volunteered so that I can become the girl _I _want to be, too.

To be the girl that can live alone. To be a girl who is self-sufficient. To be a girl who has their own life and their own identity.

I volunteered for myself.

_For myself and for Colette. That's why I'm here._

_I did this to escape from here._

_To escape from this life and to make a better one for myself._

_To become everything I've ever wanted to be._

* * *

><p><strong>Oscaron Linnerchip, 16 years old;<br>District Six Male;  
>jakey121.<strong>

* * *

><p>They walk in a formal fashion, one after the other into this lavish room.<p>

My best friends stand in front of me, side by side, all waiting for someone to break this hellish tension. All I can do is sit in the chair, gazing up at them with my fists by my sides, clenching them, gritting my teeth to keep myself calm, and wait.

Wait for as long as it takes. This isn't the end of everything – it's a setback, a major punch in the face, but it's not all there is. I look at my friends and offer them a small smile to tell them it's alright, and it's that simple gesture which kick-starts their emotions.

Binary, Dey and Clare all leap towards me, wrapping them arms round my shoulders and pulling me into a hug. Instead of fighting against it, instead of letting them know how I just want everyone to be alright, to think about how it might be better on one another to remain calm, I let it happen. I let them get out their negative emotions, so I can focus on positive ones.

"Bastards," Dey whispers angrily in my ear, "those no good, ratshit fuckheads."

"Nice," I laugh, feeling Clare's hair tickle my chin as she wraps her arms even tighter round my shoulders. I clap Dey on the back and focus on poor Binary, who clings to my midsection, her tiny self pushed to the outside.

"You okay?"

"Me?" She smiles, shaking her head. "I'm not the person who should be asked that question."

"I'm fine," I reply. _I am. I have to be. If not, what am I? I'm just another angry wayward soul who's destined to die. _I'm not going to die. I'm not going to lose my cool. I'm going to keep that clear head, rid myself of how any normal person should respond to when they've been reaped, and get my shit together.

I'm going to win, for my friends, for my family, and for myself.

Win.

I can do this. _Right?_

They pull away in unison, shuffling back awkwardly. Dey has never been the kind of guy who shows much affection for someone of the same sex, whether they're a relative or a friend. But it's nice to know he's here, that all three of them are, and that afterwards my family will come in to bid me goodbye. I want this entire situation to go the way it's supposed to go, with tears, with I-love-you's and with hope.

They're the sort of things people need to hear, things I need to hear. Maybe they're bullshit at the end of the day, but family is family and friends are friends. Support will help me, it won't get me through to the end, but it's something. Everyone needs something.

"You got this, right?" Clare asks, her pretty eyes widening. I see tears brightening in the corners, two beautiful blue pools growing lighter and lighter.

For her, I smile, for myself I nod my head and believe. "Definitely. Maybe. Hopefully. Everyone needs to believe they can do this."

"And you will. You have got this," Dey claps me on the shoulder and shakes me once, laughing sadly. "No one's gonna take down my pal, alright? I taught you better."

"You taught me nothing." We laugh together. I'm happy for it – a brief, millisecond pause when things seem like they're happening on the outside of this building rather than within. Where the walls don't feel like they're moving inch by inch, second by second, caving in like my mind's prone to do if I let it.

I won't let it. I refuse to let it. The Oscaron I used to be, the Oscaron that would fall down, punch a wall, scream and shout and fight is gone. That is not the kind of guy that will make it to the end, the kind of guy that is there for his friends, family and people that matter.

I have to be this Oscaron, so I can win.

So I can survive.

"You can kill, I know you can." Binary pipes up, latched to the side of Dey, looking up at me. Whereas Clare has tearful eyes, hers are painfully empty, creepy as always, though I know she cares. They all do, they simply express things differently. Like I do. Everyone has their quirks. Everyone is themselves, in whichever way works best.

"Well, I'd like to say I could," I start, pretending that the idea doesn't scare me, smiling to satisfy the way she looks up at me, _hoping_, "I haven't before, but maybe I can. Hopefully. It's all about hope, and at the end of the day, one of us who has that hope will realise that it's come true."

"How are you so calm about this?" Dey shakes his head, rolling his eyes. "I'd kick the shit out of you if I'd been reaped."

"What a nice friend you are."

We all laugh, again. Because laughing is better than crying. Clare seems to realise this and holds it back, sniffling and swallowing something down. I don't want her to feel like she can't open up, but at the same time I appreciate it, it helps me do the very thing Dey's surprised about. It helps me keep calm and composed.

"I'm just saying, if I'd been fucked by the system, I'd want to get it out on someone I know won't hate my guts for it. A Peacekeeper will just shoot my family, you're a big softie. You'd just take it."

I roll my eyes back at him and smile. _Will I? Will I just take people's shit and deal with what they have to do? _Maybe if I was staying here, I'd believe that. But where I'm going… can I?

I have to find the right balance between saving myself mentally, and saving myself physically. I have to do bad things, but if I can think in the right way, will it work?

I look at Dey, opening my mouth to say something, and close it the second someone knocks on the door. The three of them turn, my eyes drifting over his shoulder. They look back at me and envelop me once more in what could be the last embrace we'll ever share.

I'm going to try, though. Try to make it a temporary wait, rather than a permanent one.

That's all I can do, that's all I have in my power. To try. As long as I try, I have hope. As long as I have hope, I have a chance.

As long as I have a chance, I can win.

"Goodbye," I wave to them, smiling until the door closes, and fall back into my chair.

_Don't cry._

_Do not cry._

I don't.

I want to, so badly, more than I've wanted to do anything in my life.

But I don't.

I can't.

If I do, it's over.

* * *

><p><strong>Ciel Fontaine, 18 years old;<br>District Ten Male;  
>Cashmere67.<strong>

* * *

><p>My first visitor is my grandmother and my siblings.<p>

My grandma hobbles into the room, with Tien and Luna scampering in behind her. They let go of her hand, running right into my arms. I hug them both, holding them tightly. Luna's the only one who begins to cry, while Tien stands there in my arms, not moving or saying a word.

Tien backs away, leaving Luna and I somewhat alone. I brush her hair out of her face, bringing it back behind her ear. She sniffles, looking up at me with tear-filled eyes.

"Ciel…," she says, and I nod my head, wrapping her in my arms again. I pat her head, and she sniffles again. "You can't leave… You can't leave me…"

"I don't want to, Luna," I say. "I don't have a choice, though."

"Why did it have to be you?"

"He doesn't have a choice," Tien says from behind her. He walks over, places his hand on her shoulder, and tugs at her shirt. "It's my turn, Luna."

Kneeling down on one knee, I look Tien in the eyes, some dirt and sweat on his face. His hair is a mess, with a small cut on the top of his forehead. He stares up at me, not being as emotional as Luna was. I lean forward, whispering into his ear.

"Can you promise me one thing?" I whisper, and he nods his head. "Can you promise me you will take care of Luna and grandma for me?"

Backing up, I stand up, looking at Tien nodding his head still. Luna hugs Tien, burying her head into his arm, and he glances back at me, and I smile. The two of them sit down on the couch, and I walk over to my grandma who's looking out the window. She stands there, her hands trembling.

I place my hand on top of hers, trying to calm her down.

I don't want her to be afraid. I don't want her to be scared.

There's nothing to be scared about.

"Oh, honey," she says, her voice croaking. She struggles to stand up straight, and I wrap my arm around her back, propping her up. "Why did it have to be you?"

"I'd rather it be me then Tien," I say, getting a disapproving look from my grandmother. "Sorry, but it's true. It's better that it's me and not one of them."

"Don't speak like that," she says, her voice low, nearly a mumble. "I wish it wasn't any of you."

I just want her to see that I can survive. That I can do it.

After my parents died, I was resourceful and did what I had to. Even if it meant putting my family's name on the line, I did it. I did it so that we can survive and that we would have enough food and money.

I just want her to see it in the same way I do.

Despite the knock on the door, my grandmother stays where she is, not moving. Tien and Luna come over, gripping their hands around our grandmother's. She begins to walk away, and as the Peacekeeper opens the door, she looks over her shoulder.

I smile at her.

I will return for them. I will be coming back home to my family.

The door closes, and a few seconds later, it opens again. When I see who's standing in the doorway, I'm not all that surprised. It's Julius.

I didn't expect anyone else to come besides Julius.

He's the only one that I haven't ratted out. The only one I haven't betrayed.

The only one who still trusts me.

Julius walks into the room, letting the Peacekeeper close the door, and embraces me. We hug, and he pats me on the back, his messy hair getting in my mouth. He backs up, running his hand through his hair, a mixture of emotion on his face. He's smiling, but his eyes are bespeaking something else.

"What's up?" I ask, placing my hand on his shoulder. I give him a little shake, trying to snap him out of his pensive expression.

"I'm just worried," he says, shrugging his shoulders, brushing off my hand.

"Don't be worried!" I say, knowing that even for me, it's too optimistic. Of all people, anyway, Julius shouldn't be worried. I should. I _should _be worried, but for some reason, I'm not.

I never was one to worry about things.

"It's the Hunger Games, Ciel," he says, shaking his head, a sullen look on his face. "I would hope you're at least a little worried."

"Come on, man. It's me we're talking about."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he replies, rolling his eyes, the sullen expression being wiped off and replaced by a smirk. He chuckles, digging his fist into my shoulder. "You're Ciel Fontaine and you have nothing worry about."

Julius takes a seat in one of the chairs, and I sit across from him, watching him stare off out the window. I watch him carefully, seeing his jaw shift whenever he blinks. It looks like he wants to say something else, but he keeps it to himself, bringing his fist up to his chin for him to rest his head on.

Besides my grandma and Luna and Tien, I'll miss him the most. He was always there for me, the one for me to confide in and be transparent with. Well, not transparent about _everything_; he still doesn't know about my job.

The job that's ruined every other friendship I've had.

But, with him, there was never a reason to tell him about it. He's a good-goody through and through, never doing a bad thing in his entire life. Perhaps that's why I'm so close with him, then.

Because there's no reason for me to tell on him. For me to rat him out to the Peacekeepers.

There's a knock on the door, and a Peacekeeper opens it, gesturing for Julius to exit. We embrace again, and as he lets go of me, I wave at him. He shakes his head, the same mixture of emotions on his face, with the half-smirk, half-frown. The door closes behind him, and I sit back down, sliding further down on the couch.

I let out a deep sigh.

_I know I can't give up._

_I have to stay strong for my grandmother. For my siblings. For Julius._

I have to try my best to fight, to survive, and to come home. I will try my best to do it all.

Just like I always have.

_I am Ciel Fontaine._

_And I can do this._

* * *

><p><strong>Frazier Malcolm, 17 years old;<br>District Eleven Male;  
>jakey121.<strong>

* * *

><p>My aunt and uncle are the first two people into the room, no doubt being the only company I'm inclined to get. They walk on in, smiling a pair of melancholic smiles, hand in hand, moving for me in my lonesome chair in the centre.<p>

The moment they reach for me, I automatically rise up to wrap my arms round their shoulders. I feel my uncle's hand gently clap me on the back, my aunt's tears moving down her cheeks and onto my reaping outfit.

It's a sad, sad day, yet all I can do is stand there, mechanically going through the motions I know they'd expect from me. Truthfully, I feel empty. Sitting there, standing here, it's all very much moving from point a to point b.

But I won't hurt my loved one's feelings. Not when this is all they have, to remember me by, a few simple words and caring gestures. The least I can do is give them what they want.

I care, I love them, I'll miss them… but… I haven't quite worked out how I feel yet. About being reaped. It's too much to take in.

"This isn't right… this isn't…" My aunt's voice cuts off, she holds in a sob, looking at me with her eyelashes thick with tears that well up and fall down her pallid cheeks. My uncle squeezes her hand and breaks the embrace, me standing opposite them, the victim of everything, whilst they're the ones acting like it.

I feel for them. I feel for myself. But this, all of this, I build up so much about how I should come across that I can't work out how I really, truly, feel myself. They stare at me, waiting for something, my aunt and uncle practically on the brink of shattering apart. Guilt over upsetting them overrides guilt of not knowing myself at this point in time.

I take my aunt's other hand and give it a comforting squeeze.

"Fair doesn't apply here."

"But it should, it should." My uncle's voice rises in volume, taking on a sombre state of anger. Laced with the tragedy that's happened, but still, a temper I find remarkable. He was always such a mellow man – maybe that's where I got it from. The ability to stay calm, the ability to just be whoever other people need me to be. So I don't have to face myself? Or so I don't have to face the wrath of other people when they see how I really am?

I'll work it out soon – meeting strangers, the other tributes, making friends and making enemies. Maybe I'll answer some of the unanswered questions. Maybe something will come clear to me.

"I'm reaped. I'm going into the Games. I wish I could say something to make it stop, but I can't." I smile sadly and let go of my aunt's hand, letting it fall lifeless to her side.

"But you… you of all people, you've done nothing wrong."

_Oh believe me, I've done plenty wrong._

I hold the retort in. I hold the truth in like I always do with everything and sit back down in the chair, placing my chin in my hands. The nerves are now starting to affect me, working their way up my legs, attacking my stomach, filling my head and eyes with a weird buzz and blur. It's a strange, unwelcome feeling. At the end of the day, there's no way I can do this.

There's no question about where I'm going to end up in a week's time. It's not me trying to ruin my chances before they've even settled, but I only have to look up at my dwindling family, my confused mind, to realise there's no hope for me. I need to be real about it, rather than infuse myself with false hope.

But my family, the people I love, they need that hope. I won't be a bad person just so I can feel like I'm telling myself the truth. If they need lies, like most people do, then that's what they'll get.

"That District partner of yours, that rowdy girl, maybe you could ally with her. It'd be good to have a girl that seems like she knows what she's doing." My uncle's face has settled away from anger and into his usual state of calmness. I'm happy for that. It's easier to deal with – less repercussions if I say something wrong.

"Mitzie. Yeah," I shrug my shoulders, "I don't know a lot about her."

"Then get to know her."

"Isn't that a bad idea, though? Getting to know the very people that will have to die for me to live." I flinch when my aunt's face goes even paler, realising I've said the wrong thing. Questioning the idea that I might not actually survive… _bad move, I'm an idiot._

"Do whatever you have to do. We need you Frazier, I don't know how we'll cope."

"I'll win," I lie, smiling at them both, pulling them in for another hug, and closing my eyes. Part of me wants to cry so I know that there's something inside of me that can relate with how they're feeling. But I don't. I can't. It's just not me – rather than expressing too much of anything, I express what other people need from me. Do this, do that. It's a way of survival.

_Maybe that's how I'll win._

No. No I'm not winning.

I wish there was a way…

But there isn't.

"Please, come back to us," my aunt's hand reaches my cheek, tenderly wiping away where there should be tears, should be the marks of my sorrow and grief. She pulls it away and tries to smile, the corners of her eyes crinkling with something between hope and loss. "We love you."

"I love you too." I nod my head, because this is the truth. I do, I love them more than anything I've ever loved in the world.

More than my… real family.

_No, don't think about them. I can't. Not now. Not in this place at this time._

There's a knock at the door and finally, the goodbyes come to an end. My aunt and uncle immediately tense up, knowing the time has come, and try to hold me one last time. If they could will the clock to freeze, I know they would. But it doesn't. Fate is cruel, just look at my situation. Where I am. Where I'm about to go.

We say one last goodbye, drifting through the door as it closes and I'm alone once more.

I fall back into the chair, head in my hands, and close my eyes.

If this is a fight I'm going to lose, it doesn't make it a fight I'm going to give up at. I simply know the odds. Know who I am, what I'm capable of, and how it doesn't amount to much.

But for them, I'll try.

I really will.

And maybe for myself, I'll try to find peace.

Instead of doing things one way, maybe I'll do them the other.

For my family.

For myself.

_For my parents, wherever you are._

_I'm sorry._

* * *

><p><strong>And that's the first of the goodbyes. One more pre-Capitol chapter to go and we're onto the next stage!<strong>


	8. Goodbyes Part Two

**Chapter Eight. **

* * *

><p><strong>Goodbyes, Part Two.<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Reign Arondight, 18 years old;<br>District One Male;  
>jakey121.<strong>

* * *

><p>"What have you done…?"<p>

_Here it comes._

I look up with a reserved expression on, a patient one, watching my father and mother flock into the room with their sheep behind them. The Arondight family, proud to be poor, proud that they don't amount to anything. Proud to hide behind the self-obsessed, arrogant, pricks of our District.

I watch them all, my parents and my siblings, how they react to seeing me sit in the centre of the room.

I simply stare back with as calm of an expression as I can muster. They wouldn't understand, anyway. As long as I get how I feel, understand my motivations, I don't need to express them to anyone else. My thoughts are my thoughts.

"The room's a bit cramped," I say, continuing to stare. It's not the nicest thing to reply to. Not a heartfelt goodbye or a sincere apology for ruining their lives. Not that they have much of a life that I can ruin.

This might be the first time they've actually all looked at me and not gotten distracted. I can't pretend it doesn't give me somewhat of a boost, despite the circumstances. Hatred or not, it's something at least. All I want is something. Anything. Even this shambles of a farewell.

"Maybe you should have thought about interior spacing before you threw your life away." My mother shouts above my father, red in the nose, red in her cheeks, her dark brown hair practically standing up on edge. I hide a smirk, smothering it down under years and years of well trained neutrality. What they don't see can't hurt them.

Other people matter to me, other people who might for once in their life see me for me and actually understand that I'm not just another factory worker, I'm not just a miner, a guy that tends to the bar. A guy who remains practically non-existent in the eyes of Panem. One is glitz and glam to not just the Capitol's eyes but the other people in the Districts that struggle.

We don't make sense. We're an anomaly. Well, not anymore. For once, a gutter rat can actually stand up and show himself off. I don't need their approval – I just need a chance to be… someone. Something.

"Why would you do this?"

I look at my older brother now, like they've rehearsed a scene. Who will play the angry, raving lunatic? Who will play the sympathetic, sincere sibling to make me feel guilty? A part of me will always love the people I call a family, but a part of me will always, now, feel free of the restraints poverty has us shackled with.

"I did it because I had to."

That's right, isn't it?

I won't lie just to make them feel better about themselves. I won't lie and make myself to be some sorry sack of shit that they can talk about when I'm off to the Capitol and they're left to scrubbing floors. Besides, looking at them all, staring at me with the whole spectrum of human emotion on display, the worst part is I just don't know how to react.

What to say.

Who to be.

The best, safest way of remaining myself is to sit calmly, hands crossed over one another, and simply watch and wait for them to interact with me, rather than the opposite way. My mind's too far away now, dedicated wholly to what I've done and where I'm going to let the past and where I've come from restrict me any longer.

Now that I'm a volunteer, I'm a tribute, I'm a Career, I'm going to kill, win and make something of my life. People won't put me down simply because I'm something they don't understand. I'm doing something for me, I can be proud of that. It's not like I haven't worked for this – I've pushed myself, time and time again, and now I've made something of my excuse for a life.

I'm happy.

I won't let my family take that away from me.

The awkward silence in the room alleviates the moment my three younger brothers move forwards, breaking apart from the tense Arondights behind them. They bend down to stare at me, holding onto my legs and arms, practically on the verge of tears.

I shuffle in my chair uncomfortably, trying to smile for them, but feeling more angry than anything. I don't need tears or pity – I don't need to be treated like I'm weak when I know I've done enough to validate myself. To make up for where I've come from.

Still, as an older brother, I won't push them away. Realistically, logically, I know I have a chance, but I also know the dangers. This could be the last time I see them, as much as I'll fight against that outcome on where I'm heading. I take their hands in mine and ruffle Legend's hair, smiling at them all as warmly as I can.

It probably comes across distant and cold as always, but that's just me. Even for my family, I can't change. If I wanted to, it won't happen. I'm me and I'm proud of it. Happy enough to say I'm Reign Arondight, now that I'm not wiping glasses and having to act content for the blonde haired sonofabitches loitering around the District like they own the place.

"You'll come back, right?"

"Please, you can't… you can't leave us Reign. You were going to help me with my homework. Who will now?"

"If you die, I'll be mad… so don't die."

They all speak, over and over each other, trying to interrupt for the sake of my attention. It's sweet, it's endearing, it's annoying, it makes me angry. It's everything to me and nothing at the same time. I can't snap out of the mind-set that I'm now moving on and I don't need to be here any longer. A neglectful family has gotten me nowhere so far, so I've always stepped up and done things for myself.

Now, I'm taking that a step further.

All I can simply do is nod my head again, leaning back and detaching myself from their clingy hands. "I'll do my best. That's all I can promise."

"You will," my father speaks gruffly, over my siblings' heads, at the very back. "You'll come back and make us understand. You didn't need to do this."

The knock on the door silences them, stopping me from replying. They all bid one last goodbye, some of them more emotional than others. I wave them off, trying to put some feeling into it, but hearing only my father's lasts words lingering at the front of my mind.

"I did," I say, frowning, crossing my arms round my chest. "I had to do this."

I don't need to make them understand.

They mean everything and nothing to me.

I'll win for myself.

_I can do this._

_I can._

I'll be something.

I'll be a someone.

I'll be a tribute worthy of victory.

* * *

><p><strong>Erron Barnum, 15 years old;<br>District Three Male;  
>jakey121.<strong>

* * *

><p>Once my family leaves, I slump further back in the chair, placing my chin in my hands.<p>

A sigh leaves my lips before I can swallow it back. _Damn this whole thing… _I tried to be positive and encouraging to my parents, brother and grandfather especially. I know if I was in their position and saw my brother going into the Games, fighting, killing, losing himself to the pressures put upon tributes, things would change.

I tried to tell them I can do this. We have our strong Victors, but we also have our smart, clever ones. The people across Panem who tested the brains versus brawn theory and proved the former was the better of the two. If I try to tell them I can do it, maybe some part of me will slowly start to believe in itself…

Maybe.

Probably not.

The door slowly opens on its hinges, creaking inch by inch until my best friend Dom stands in the doorway. He smiles at me, a sympathetic grin, a sorry dying on the tip of his tongue. It isn't his fault – I'd like to think in the given situation, I'd have volunteered for him. But I wouldn't. I'm realistic about where my morals are and where they die out.

At the end of the day, I'm terrified, right here, sitting in this chair, seeing my happy-go-lucky, cheerfully annoying friend look on the verge of a breakdown. If I'm going to die, what have I done for myself? Have I carved some memorable path through my existence where generations to come will remember my name?

Or am I another lost face to be forgotten when my close ones cease to exist like I will in a few short weeks? A week, probably. Who am I kidding…?

"Shit man," Dom finally breaks the silence, kicking the door shut with his ankle and dragging his feet over towards me. "Shit, shit, shit. You're… Erron. My Erron. Boring, quiet Erron. This doesn't happen to people like you. People we know…. It's never…"

I stand up, placing a hand on his shoulder. Anyone else I'd let vent, mainly because I'd have no idea how to get them to calm down. It takes people a while to get to know me and for me to get to know them. But Dom, I know him. Maybe better than anyone else I know.

"It has to happen to someone. Every year. This year," I shrug my shoulders, sighing loudly, not caring who can hear. "This year it happened to be my name pulled. It's unfortunate."

"Unfortunate?" He stares me down, his bottom lip trembling. I'm stunned to silence, seeing my friend look so angry and yet so upset all meshed into one embodiment of why the Games are so cruel. So wrong. Why, as much as I hate myself for wishing it onto someone more capable, people like me should not be reaped.

No one should be reaped.

But me… I can't do anything… I can't…

_No._

_I can. I can – brains versus brawn, remember. That's how I can get through this. With an ally, if I can get two words out without crumbling into a red-faced embarrassment._

"Erron, getting told no by the girl you have a crush on is unfortunate. Getting picked on by that asshole of a bully is unfortunate. Being reaped… that's… that's way past unfortunate."

"I know," I say, swallowing down a lump in my throat. "I know and it sucks and I want to scream and cry and punch that smug Peacekeeper's face after he dragged my family away. But I didn't. I can't. I'm not like that. I take things for how they are. I'm reaped. So I'll… make the best out of a bad situation."

"You better do," Dom shakes my shoulders this time, faster, harder, like if he can stare me down, physically drill his intentions and hopes into me, they'll come true. If only optimism worked that way. "You better win, alright. I ain't losing you. Shit like this doesn't happen to people like us and I'll be damned if I'll let you die on me in there."

I nod, a small smile on my face. Not a sad one like he entered with, or a guilty one, or anything of the sort. A simple, small, happy smile. Partially because it convinces him to leave my shoulders alone, partially because if I can fool myself that I do have a chance, that I can do it, then maybe by some weird twist of fate, I… can.

Someone has to win, right? Someone out of the twenty-three others sitting in the exact same position as me, all giving the same words of encouragement to their families that they can do it. Twenty-three promises will be broken by the Games, but one of those promises has to come true.

So why can't mine?

Why can't it be my promise? My hopes? My wishes?

My luck?

"Don't go slipping back whilst I'm gone. I ain't having you get into any fights without me around."

"You? Pfft. You couldn't handle yourself in any fight."

We both laugh, straining ourselves to make some light of this terribly dark situation. "That's because I stopped you from getting into them before we had to. You need me around like I… need you around."

"Well then," he pushes me playfully back into my chair, the legs swaying back, threatening to tip over. I push forwards to balance it out and laugh again, trying to force myself to smile, to force myself to feel the way I'm acting. If I can do that then for the time being, it'll all be alright.

_Until it isn't anymore._

"If you need me as much as you say you do, come back. Win the goddamn Hunger Games."

"Yeah," I look up at him. At the back of my mind, reality contradicts every other feeling inside of me. Every word I say. Look I send. But if it's at the back of my mind, for the time being, this hopeless optimism can get me somewhere. It can make me get up tomorrow morning and not fall apart.

It can get me into that Arena.

Give me a fighting chance.

Help me win.

When there's a knock on the door and Dom leaves me, one last hug shared between the two of us, I slump back into the chair and smile to myself. Reality sucks. This terrible world I'm a part of will now become even worse.

But if I try, if I make something of my time, then the most impossible things can become possible.

I might be nothing at the moment.

But I can become something.

Someone memorable.

Something special.

A Victor.

* * *

><p><strong>Juliette Durand, 16 years old;<br>District Five Female;  
>Cashmere67.<strong>

* * *

><p>Sitting patiently, I cross my legs and place my hands on top of my lap, awaiting my parent's arrival.<p>

Inhaling slowly, I blink once, trying not to ruin my make-up. I take in my surroundings, remaining calm, knowing that they won't want to see me emotional. They won't want to see me cry. Or yell. Or whine.

They would want me to sit here quietly and patiently.

So, I will.

I will do everything they tell me to do. I will be everything they expect me to be.

I would _never _disobey my parents.

When there's a knock on the door, I shimmy my shoulders, shifting my posture. I sit up straight, and as my father walks in, I notice he's carrying several boxes. There are three of them, and as he comes over, he places them next to me, and I don't glance at them.

I don't move. I don't speak.

I barely even breathe.

_Remain calm._

_Speak when you are told to._

"Juliette," he says, his voice quieter than normal. He places his hands on top of mine, and at the gesture, I bite down on my tongue. I look up into his eyes, seeing the lack of sympathy. The lack of anything, really. "I brought you these."

"I helped pick them out," my mother chirps, holding up a mirror for her to look at herself in. She bats her eyelashes, gently rubbing her finger along the bottom part of her eye. "I prefer the silver one with the pink jewels."

My father opens the boxes, showing me all three of the bracelets inside. I smile sweetly, showing my utter appreciation and gratitude towards these gifts. No, no, they don't want to hug me or kiss me good-bye.

They don't want to cry or weep for me.

They simply want to buy me gifts.

The gifts I find myself becoming sick of. The gifts that bear no meaning to me anymore.

"Thank you," I say, a little too monotonously. "I will go with the silver one, as mother said."

"Wonderful choice!" She says, snapping the mirror shut. She places it back in her bag, walking over to sit down next to me. She pushes the boxes to the side, and as she sits down, she tugs at a stray piece of hair. "What did I tell you about the bun? Over, not under."

"Sorry, mother."

"And why are you so red? You look blotchy."

"Sorry, mother."

"Who even picked this dress out for you?" She says, holding my arm up, and I bite down on my tongue, not wanting to say anything. I don't want to apologize anymore.

If anyone should be apologizing, it should be her.

It should be both of them.

"I bought it for her the other day," my father says, glaring at my mother. They exchange eye-contact, and she looks away, puckering her lips. She remains quiet, letting my father take on the conversation now.

_Is that the woman she expects me to be?_

_Docile?_

"We are going to miss you, Juliette."

"As am I," I say, smiling, bowing my head. "I will miss the two of you dearly."

"We'll be watching," my mother says, making me shudder. _They'll be watching. Watching me exploit myself in the Capitol. _"We'll be rooting for you, Juliette."

My mother flinches at the knock on the door, and my father nods his head, grabbing my mother's hand and pulling her up from the chair. He wraps his arm around her, kisses her on the cheek, and then reaches for me.

He kisses me on the cheek, and after that, they walk away.

My mother and father begin to exit the room, not even glancing over their shoulders once. They walk through the doors, and I look down at the boxes beside me, and with one swipe of my arm, I knock them onto the ground. I take the silver bracelet, though, and put it around my wrist.

"I love you too," I mumble, falling back into the chair. I relax, spreading out my legs and arms and not caring about my posture. I don't care about what I look like – I don't care if my hair falls the right way or if my arm is properly angled the right away.

I don't care about them, or District Five, or this life that I live.

I don't care about any of that.

I never have.

In a perfect world, I would have never grown up here. I would have grown up in the Capitol, traveling to and from each District at my own leisure. I would never have to stay in one place for so long.

But, this isn't a perfect world. Nothing is ever as perfect, even if I want it to be.

And, as much as I try to delude myself, I don't live a perfect life.

I never have.

My father would never allow me to live that perfect life I've always dreamed of. A life where I can do what I want, say what I want, act and dress how I want, live how I want…

_That _would be the perfect life.

It's wishful thinking, though. All of this is.

I'm stuck with this life and I always will be. As much as I want to, I'll never be able to live another life.

_I am Juliette Durand, daughter of two successful, wealthy, and ideal parents. _

_I am the perfect daughter. I am docile, mannerly, and refined._

_And that's all I am._

It's all I'll ever be.

_Even if I don't want to be that girl, I don't have a choice._

_I never have._

* * *

><p><strong>Lauro Calert, 18 years old;<br>District Nine Male;  
>Cashmere67.<strong>

* * *

><p>As expected, my mother rushes into the room, her face buried into her hands as tears stream down her face.<p>

My mother wraps her arms around me, hugging me tightly, and I avert my eyes, already knowing how hard this has to be for her. I didn't do this on purpose; I just hope she sees it like that. I would never want her to go through losing another child again.

Especially not from the Hunger Games.

"I… Lauro… I…," she utters through heavy breathing, pausing to inhale sharply. The tears are still rolling down her cheeks, and she lifts her head, some hair plastered to the side of her face. "Lennie… Now you…"

"Mom," I say, wrapping my arms around her, bringing her back into a hug. I breathe in slowly, close my eyes, and although my next few words are hard to believe, I have to say them. I have to say them so that she feels better. "I won't die. Not like Lennie."

"But…"

"I'll fight for the both of us, mom," I say, the words already resonating wrong with me. _I've never once liked fighting. I was always the one to run away. How could I lie to my own mother?_

"You can't die," she whimpers, shaking her head as she hugs my father now. He stands there, looking down at his wife, and then back at me. "I can't lose another one, Theu."

"You won't," my father says, patting her on the back, bringing her in closer. "He's a fighter. He won't go down without a fight."

_Is that how they see me?_

_Because that's not how I see myself._

"He's strong, Sara. He's our son. He's a Calert."

My father looks at me for a nod of agreement, and as I nod, I avert my eyes, already feeling like I've let them down. If I die like Lennie did two years ago, what kind of son would I be? I'd let down my entire family. I'd let everyone down.

"You're right," my mother says, wiping the tears away from under her eyes. "He is strong and he is smart."

_Strong._

_Smart._

_But, what about a coward? Do they see me as that?_

I might know that I'm no Career and I might know that the chances of me winning are slim, but despite all of that, I can't let that stop me. I can't die… I have to do it for my family.

_Even if it's hard and challenging, I have to. Or else I'll die._

_And I can't die._

"Where's Nya?" I ask, trying to change the course of the conversation. My mother smiles at the mention of her daughter, and I go along with it, not wanting to see them so down anymore.

"She's at the hospital today," she replies. "Some pregnancy complications."

"Have they figured out the gender yet?"

"A girl," my father adds, a smile on his face. My mother and him exchange the smile, and he wraps his arm around her. There's a knock on the door, and my mother begins to panic, her face flushing red. "One more thing before we go, Lauro."

"What's that?"

The two of them come over to me now, tucking me into the space between them. We hug and they kiss the top of my head, and I try to smile for them. I try to smile for them so that they don't see me how I see myself. As a coward. As weak.

As a son who might die in the Games.

"We're proud of you, Lauro," my father says. "Your mother and I are extremely proud of you. Whatever happens in the Games, Lauro, we're proud of you."

"Thank you," I say, and as they let me go, I watch them walk out of the doors. "I love you, guys."

"I love you too, Lauro," my mother says, while my father nods his head, and as soon as the door closes, I fall backwards into the couch. I sit there, awaiting my next visitor, and really, I don't care who it is. I'd rather be alone, anyway.

I don't want anyone else to instill some false sense of hope in me.

I don't want to let anyone else down.

I know what I'm capable of, of what I can do, but I'm not sure it's enough. I'm not sure if it will help me win the Games.

When the door opens this time, I look to see who it is, and I see Devi standing there, wearing one of the shortest skirts she has to own. She walks in on her heels, tripping when she steps onto the carpet, and I chuckle, and she waves her hand in the air.

"Shush," she says, struggling to get over to the couch with her heels on. Eventually, she sits down across from me, kicking her feet up onto the table. "Okay, I made it."

"Took you long enough," I joke, and she punches me in the shoulder, her rings leaving an indent in my arm. "You look lovely today."

"Yeah, well, I just wanted to make sure I look good just in case I get reaped," she says, and I frown, thinking that she's taking it too lightly. That she's making a joke of me being reaped. But, I don't say anything.

I never say anything to stick up for myself.

"How'd I look?" I ask, trying to keep the banter going.

"You've looked better," she says, winking. "But, enough about that. How are you feeling, Lauro?"

"I've felt better," I say, shrugging, and she shakes her head. I look at her, and she waves her hand, expecting me to go on. "I don't know what to feel, Devi."

"Seriously?" She says, flipping her hair over her shoulder. She stands up, gripping onto my arm for support as she balances herself on her heels. She begins to walk towards the door, and when she approaches the exit, she turns a round. "That's not the Lauro I know. The Lauro I know is confident and optimistic and doesn't take shit from anyone."

_The Lauro you know._

_Not the real Lauro._

_She knows the Lauro that I project to everyone. The one who isn't afraid of anything. But, the real Lauro, the one that I actually am, is a coward._

_I'm just a coward._

_It's all I've ever been._

* * *

><p><strong>And that's all the pre-Capitol stuff done with! They were fun, but me and Teddy are both just as excited to get into the more interesting stuff.<strong>

**Now that every tribute has appeared, there is now a poll on my profile asking for your favourite five tributes. Try and vote for five, it's much more interesting to see a spread across all tributes once the poll is closed.**

**As always, hope you enjoyed this chapter, let us both know what you thought!**


	9. Train Rides

**Chapter Nine.**

* * *

><p><strong>Train Rides.<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Oscaron Linnerchip, 16 years old;<br>District Six Male;  
>jakey121.<strong>

* * *

><p>Adelyn ignores me the moment I take a seat in the booth opposite where she sits, gazing out of the window. It's a pretty distraction, I'll give her that – prettier than where we're headed. Green fields roll into rivers and creeks that run through patches of woodland.<p>

I stare at it with a smile, watching Adelyn's face go between grumpy and even grumpier. Again, I don't blame her, I can't really.

She has every right to be angered by this entire situation. Me and her just seem different. I'm controlling my emotions by bottling them deep down and remaining calm. She's doing the exact opposite.

Each to their own, I suppose.

"I'm Oscaron. Oscar, though. That's probably easier for you to remember."

She doesn't look at me – not a single twitch of movement. Her lips open slowly, an exaggerated sigh parting through them. "I don't care if your name is Oscaron. Oscar. Or even O' for that matter. Don't talk to me."

I gape at her – stunned for a second. The anger is practically radiating off her in thick sheets. I know her… I _was _her. Until my grandmother helped tame me like some kind of wild beast. I owe her everything for not giving up on me, so I'm not about to give up on Adelyn. Everyone deserves a chance before they suffer – before they're forced to go through hell. Peace before the storm.

"O'. That would have made my life a lot easier," I grin, sliding forwards, my chin resting into my palms. I see her staring at me in the reflection of the glass, a crease in her brow, her lips set in a permanent frown.

She doesn't speak though. She says nothing. Not a single word.

"Adelyn's a pretty name. Rolls of the tongue."

I feel my cheeks going warm under her intense stare, her eyes practically narrowed into slits, gazing into my own through the reflection. I swallow a lump down in my throat, my feet nervously tapping away at the floor of the train compartment. Rich velvet carpet, everything is fine in here, better than anything I've ever seen.

Adelyn hasn't tried a single bit of food since we were herded onto this train.

I look over at a tray and signal to it with my hand. "Want to try something with me? It's all brand new, I don't think I've seen so many colourful foods in my life."

"Not hungry."

I smile. "So she does talk."

"I already told you Oscaron. Oscar. O'. Whatever your name is. Who you are doesn't matter – being nice to me… is it paranoid of me to understand you're only in my way? Or smart? I think it's smart."

_She has a point._

My lips set into a line, thinking through my options. I could leave her, I should leave her, really. Where she sees an imaginary knife in my hand waiting to stab her in the back, I see an opportunity to make something of my time here before it's cut short and I'm left… forgotten. That's the scariest fate, really. Drifting into nothingness before I've really had a chance to live.

Who I was before, that's not what I want to be remembered for.

Who Adelyn is now, I know, deep down, that's not who she wants to be either.

She's like looking into my past and somehow, on some weird level, I feel a connection that I know shouldn't be there but is. Bit by bit, it is possible to look on the world without feeling like every single shadow is out to get you. There is good in a world that's so full of the bad.

I open my mouth to say something but whatever I try to put together is drowned out by another set of footsteps. The pair of us look up, Adelyn finally breaking her gaze from the window and stares at the compartment door, swiftly opening to reveal District Six's one and only Victor.

Petra Arnott, twenty-six years old, walks with a timid smile to the two of us. She settles her eyes once on Adelyn, then once on me, and decides to sit in my side of the booth.

Adelyn bristles at that, before settling forwards with a smirk, chin in the base of her hands like mine are. Eye to eye she's quite intimidating, but I won't break away, shy back, let her think that she can scare me when I know she's not a bad person.

I know there's good under that shell. Everyone has it in them.

If I had it inside of me, she has the potential to be someone she thinks is impossible. Even in the Hunger Games. Even where we're going where the lines between what is right and wrong blur together.

Something can come from it.

_Something._

"You're Oscaron and Adelyn."

Adelyn's intense gaze switches from me to the young woman. My lips twitch up into another smile and I nod my head. "Call me Oscar, please. Or O', as Adelyn seems to prefer."

"I don't prefer anyth-"

"I think I like Oscar. So, do you two think you can win?"

Adelyn smirks, falling back into the soft cushions of her seat. I open my mouth to say something, then close it, nervously gazing away for a second. _Can I win? Is it really possible for me to do the things that will be required of me... to kill… to take away the lives of people like Adelyn._

I look at my District partner and frown. She doesn't make it easy on people, but that doesn't mean she deserves to die. No one does. Not in these circumstances.

But that doesn't change the fact of what I've left behind, who I've been forced to abandon. They need me. I need them.

I'll do whatever it takes.

Petra smiles when I return her curious gaze, waiting patiently for my answer. Or Adelyn's.

"I think anything's possible if you try your hardest. Even winning the Hunger Games."

My mentor smiles, her eyes softening. "Good answer. A little hope didn't do anyone any harm."

"Tell that to every tribute who's ever died."

We both look at Adelyn.

Where I expect Petra to grow annoyed, or even angry to match Adelyn's own temperament, she only smiles again. She leans forwards, gazing into the girl's eyes. "It's okay to be scared. Everyone has a right to feel that way… especially considering-"

"I'm not scared. I just don't see the point in pretending. I want to win. Oscar needs to die for that to happen. We aren't friends. We never will be. Stop thinking I'm some soppy charity case for you to twist into whatever you believe I have inside of me. I know your types. You try to see good where I try to hold it back – if there even is any." Adelyn stands up, turning to walk away. "I'm not your friend. Or ally. Or anything of the sort. I'm your enemy, and if you want to _try _your hardest like you say you do. Remember that. Or die." She shrugs, walking away.

"Easier for me, that way."

I stare at Petra. Petra stares at me.

"Seems like we've got our work cut out for us."

I smile at her, nodding my head. "It sure does."

* * *

><p><strong>Rebekah Amare, 17 years old;<br>District Seven Female;  
>Cashmere67.<strong>

* * *

><p>"So, you're Rebekah, huh?"<p>

Nodding my head, I take a seat at the table, and he follows me, hunching over and leaning his head on his elbows. He raises an eyebrow, the same confidence he had at the Reapings in his voice. He seems like one of those boys; the ones who I've so carefully avoided.

The ones who need a reality check.

"That's the name," I reply, looking down at my plate. As I begin to reach for food and eat, I still feel him staring at me, but eventually, he walks away. He turns around, and I watch him, shaking my head. I try not to be judgmental, but when I come across people like himself, I can't help myself.

He's asking for it.

"What did you think about my volunteering spectacle?"

"What did I think of it?" I say, shrugging my shoulders, and for a moment, I debate keeping my mouth shut. I debate biting my tongue and not revealing what I truly think. But, I go against it, just like I always do. "I thought it was stupid."

"Stupid?" He says, leaning over the counter, the confidence in his voice turning into something more defensive. "That's a shame. I put on quite the show for the Capitol."

"Yeah," I say, laughing with a snort. After seeing his face turn a shade of red, I raise my hands in the air, leaning forwards onto the table. "We clearly all can't be as charismatic and charming as you, Wyatt."

"That's a given."

Wyatt's back is to me now, and I continue to stare at him, conflicted with whether I hate him for his personality or for his decisions. It might be his over confidence that I dislike or maybe it's because he volunteered.

Wyatt volunteered because he could. He even said it himself.

How could he throw his life away like that? Risking it all – simply because he _can_. It seems rash to me.

It seems downright stupid.

Observing Wyatt, I watch him stroll around the train cart, curiously touching things here and there. He lifts up a pillow, lifts up a napkin, opens a few cupboards, and when the doors slide open, he ignores our mentors. They make eye-contact with one another, eying Wyatt up and down. Freya smirks to herself, while Beckett seems to have a judgmental look on his face.

Perhaps he sees how foolish Wyatt's decision was.

Beckett strolls over towards Wyatt, clasping one hand around his arm and draping his other around Wyatt's neck. Beckett leans Wyatt to the table, and Freya approaches, her eyes all puffy. She blinks rapidly, bats her eyelashes, and then extends her arm.

"Freya," she says, and I shake her hand, feeling a slight tremble from her fingers. "It's nice to meet you."

"Same to you," I reply, watching Wyatt and Beckett out of the corner of my eye. Beckett, rather forcefully, I shall add, forces Wyatt to take a seat, his hand still clasped onto his shoulder. "Have you acquainted yourself with my friend Wyatt yet?"

"I do not believe so," Freya says, laughing as she extends her hand for Wyatt as well. Wyatt gently scoops her hand in his own, placing a kiss on the top of it. She giggles, saying, "Freya. It's nice to meet you too, Wyatt."

"The pleasure is all mine," Wyatt replies, releasing Freya's hand, and I glance at Beckett, who gives me a nod. I nod back, noticing the scar under his eye. I've never been that up close with him before. "I think the four of us are going to make a great team. Don't you agree, Becky?"

"Rebekah," I snap, correcting him. He wrinkles his nose, turning his head to look up at Beckett. "He might appreciate the pet name."

"What do you say, Becky?" Wyatt asks, and for the first time since we've met, I let out a genuine laugh at Beckett's reaction. He rolls his eyes, clearly unamused with Wyatt. "I'll take that as a no."

Beckett pulls out the chair next to Wyatt, takes a seat, and Freya follows him, sitting across from me. They begin to eat, and I place some more food on my plate, mostly because I just don't want to sit there and stare at everyone. Wyatt seems to have no problem with that, though.

He sits there, switching back and forth from staring at me and Freya.

"You are District Seven's first volunteer," Beckett says, his voice not conveying much emotion. It's rather monotone. "That seems like an accomplishment in itself."

"It does seem like something I should be proud of," Wyatt says, flashing a smile. "Among other things."

"I never said it was a good thing necessarily," Beckett replies, shaking his head in disapproval. It almost seems like Beckett sees it as more than an accomplishment for Wyatt. "You're now a target. A target for the Careers, really. You are a contender to them. You will intimidate them."

I nod my head in agreement.

At a time like this, Wyatt should really listen to Beckett and take what he says into consideration. Beckett was the first victor ever to win a Hunger Games, so really, he knows best. Wyatt's probably too self-centered to listen, though.

It might not be my place to say anything, but Wyatt really hasn't thought this through. By just volunteering he's already placed a target on his head. He's challenging by the Careers by volunteering; _they _do that. _We _don't.

That's how it works.

"Yeah, so?" Wyatt says. "I can take them on. I am Wyatt Lane, after all."

Beckett goes back to eating, giving Freya a side-glance. She nods her head in response, and I look down at my plate, and despite remaining composed, my mind begins to drift, straying away from the moment. Does being his District partner also make me a target?

Do I come off as threatening to the Careers? Or anyone, for that matter?

Snapping out of my thoughts, I look up, seeing Freya already looking at me. She smiles again, and Wyatt and Beckett begin to have side conversation, and as Freya and I hold eye-contact, I try to smile back. But, I can't.

I'm worrying too much.

About dying. About being killed.

About not being good enough for the Hunger Games.

_Stop it, Rebekah._

_You are good enough. You are strong enough._

_You have it in you to win._

I know I'm right. I know I have to keep all of my worries at bay.

I have to be confident. I have to remain calm and determined.

Then, I will win.

_I will win._

_I will return home to my family._

* * *

><p><strong>Armity Selsun, 17 years old;<br>District Ten Female;  
>Cashmere67.<strong>

* * *

><p>"I'm Ciel Fontaine."<p>

Ciel reaches out his hand across the table, and I place my fork down, giving him a nod as a response. He wiggles his fingers in my face, a goofy smile on his face, and he shrugs his shoulder, taking back his arm. "Armity."

"I saw you volunteer for that girl," he says, chomping down on his food. His mouth is full of food, and as he speaks, I wrinkle my nose, nodding as he continues to ramble. "Any connection to her? You didn't have the same last name."

"My boyfriend's sister."

"Oh," he replies, looking taken back. He looks disappointed, his shoulders slumping down. "Boyfriend."

Covering my mouth with my hand, I smirk, puffing air out of my nose as I suppress any laughter. Ciel sees me smirking, though, and he takes his fork, shoveling more food into his mouth. The doors into the train cart slide open, and Kerri, our mentor, steps through them, followed by our escort. The escort is talking to Kerrie, but Kerrie just nods her head, and when she notices us, she scurries over.

"Welcome," Kerrie says, taking a seat of her own. The escort sits near the window, examining her nails. "This, clearly, is the train ride to the Capitol. Any questions so far?"

"I have one," Ciel says, not bothering to wipe the food from the corner of his mouths. "Are _you _single?"

"Flattering," Kerrie replies, glancing at me and making a gesture with her eyes. "Do you have any questions, Armity?"

"No," I say, placing my fork down and placing my hands down on my lap. Ciel continues to stare at Kerrie, and she watches me, raising her eyebrow. "Do _you _have a question for me?"

"The question we're all wondering," Kerrie says, leaning back in her chair as she looks down the bridge of her nose at me. "Who is Naomi?"

"Her boyfriend's sister," Ciel says, jumping at the question before I can reply. Kerrie glances at Ciel, who's now looking at me, that goofy smile back on his face. "I know. Boyfriend. I was just as disappointed as you are."

"I respect that," Kerrie says, nodding, ignoring Ciel's further comments. "It takes courage to volunteer for someone else. You were safe from the Games, and then, you volunteered to save someone else. I respect that."

I nod my head.

I _was _safe, but Naomi… She wasn't. If I let Naomi go into the Games, she would have been one of the first deaths, and I wouldn't be able to watch Brand witness that. That's his sister; I couldn't do that to him. I couldn't let him watch his own sister get killed in the Games.

_There's always that chance, though, that I could be the one he has to watch die._

Shaking my head, I push away those thoughts, the thoughts of uncertainty and doubt. The ones that make me regret ever volunteering. _This is for Brand, _I remind myself. _This is for the both of us._

"So," Kerrie says, propping herself back up and reaching over the table for a pastry. Ciel watches her every movement, smirking as her hand comes near his face. "Tell me about yourselves."

"Why don't you begin?" Ciel says, winking. "I'm intrigued."

"Flattering, once again," Kerrie replies, giving him a friendly smile. "I'm Kerrie, victor of the Ninth Hunger Games. I live in the Victor's Village rather contently with my mother, father, and sister. Now, what about you guys?"

Ciel, of course, jumps at the question before I can even respond. Again.

"I'm sure you all know my name by now," he says, shrugging his shoulders, a smug look on his face. "I live with my grandma and my two siblings. I, uh, work on a farm sometimes."

"I never see you around," I comment, eying him. Ciel shifts in his seat, physically looking uncomfortable now, that smug expression now gone. Kerrie looks at me and I believe it's my turn now. "Well, I'm Armity. I'm the girl that volunteered for her boyfriend's sister."

"I know that," Kerrie says, waving her hands. "What else?"

"I live with my mother and brother. My father, well," I say, tilting my head and biting my lower lip. "He's been gone for a while now."

"Where'd he go?" Ciel asks.

"Where'd _yours_ go?" I snap.

Ciel narrows his eyebrows, raising his chin as he stares at me. Kerrie stands up, laughing, saying, "That's enough, kids. Let's not jump at each other's throats already."

Ciel excuses himself, standing up and walking over towards the counter. He sits by himself now, eating some more, and Kerrie walks over to him, engaging in some small conversation. I remain at the table, still feeling tense from Ciel's question. It's not that I don't like talking about my father, but here, it's too ironic. I might have volunteered while, but my father… He didn't.

He had no choice in his situation.

He was reaped all those years ago for the Third Hunger Games.

And, here I am. I'm going to go into the Games just like he did.

I was too young to remember him, but when the Reaping came around for the Third Hunger Games, he was the chose name. He was only seventeen at the time, and although he put up a good fight, he was slaughtered during the finale. He almost made it. He almost won.

But, _almost _isn't good enough. Not in the Hunger Games.

I don't want to _almost _win. I don't want to _almost _make it home to Brand.

I want to win altogether.

I want to be known as the girl who volunteered for her boyfriend's sister _and _as the girl who avenged her father's death. I want to be known as that when I win.

I don't want to be known as the girl who died. I don't want to just be another death for District Ten who returns back in a coffin.

I want to be more than that.

_I want to be the victor._

* * *

><p><strong>As you probably noticed, the format is a little different now. Three POVs per chapter meaning we'll have 8 chapters in the Capitol. We'll rotate between who writes two POVs, so next one will include two of my tributes, one of Teddy's.<strong>

**Poll results are now on my profile, congratulations to Sadia for coming in first place!**

**See you with the next chapter.**


	10. Chariot Rides

**Chapter Ten.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chariot Rides.<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Julius Dumont, 18 years old;<br>District Two Male;  
>jakey121.<strong>

* * *

><p>This is the part where I flourish.<p>

Sierra has her hands grasped around the rail of the Chariot, her shoulders relaxed, hair swept and curled down her back. I call her name and wave when she turns to face me. If there's one thing I can do here and now, with the other tributes – my future allies more importantly – is build bridges. Connections that will fall apart in the future, but connections that will cement what is true about myself before the darkness comes to corrupt it.

"I think we drew the short straw," I laugh, stepping up to hoist myself into the Chariot. "At least in terms of the Careers."

"It's about how we use what we have. If it's bad we make it good." Sierra holds herself with the same sense of confidence I believe will get me places in this alliance. As far as it comes within the loyalty side of things, I have it in the bag. The others can deal with the subtlety of what it is to be a tribute, I'll deal with what it is to be a potential Victor.

Internally, I have the confidence. Externally, I have the charisma.

It's just about blending the two in the correct way.

"Our fellow allies from One don't look very chipper." I raise my finger, pointing to the Chariot in front of us. Neither are talking, neither seem to be even acknowledging the other is anywhere near them. Reign looks to the left, Calaise to the right.

Sierra laughs, shaking her head. "We'll get them on board soon enough."

"At least we're starting something." I nudge her in the hip. She staggers once, collecting herself and laughs brightly. I like Sierra – she seems genuine enough, genuine for this stage at least. That's why I was most excited about being here in the Capitol, where things were shallow and superficial, but still about being teenagers rather than who we volunteered to become in the Arena. Sierra seems to be on the same wavelength as me, making her time worth it before she adapts into the other side of herself.

I can do the same thing.

I know I can – Julius here, Julius in there. Two sides of the same coin.

The pair of us are dressed in grey, upper class, expensive clothes. Rather than the brutality that's come to be associated with our industry, the two of us are dusted with grey across our faces, me in a suit, Sierra in a dress that reaches her thighs.

The noise is thundering behind the doors, piercing and loud. Whereas I'm sure plenty behind me stand with a mixture of nerves and despair over the near future, where we will be in minutes to come, I soak in the anticipation and use it to brighten my smile.

Sometimes, like what happened on Reaping day, things that are close to me have an edge that can effect who I am inside. But this – where I can give a show, that's the real me. The kind of person that I need to be for myself, Sierra, the two in front and the two behind.

Speaking of the duo from Four, I see Sierra turn to peer over her shoulder. "Four seem to be getting along well."

I turn to see the two of them. Tiberion and Aliset are the complete opposites of our allies from One. Aliset is cheerful and approachable, everything I admire in a person that lives where we live. Tiberion holds himself more respectfully, pride practically radiating from his face, but like Aliset it comes off confidently rather than arrogantly.

I offer the girl a cheery wave, a bright smile to match. She beams at me, gesturing with a nod of her head to where we are. The pair from Three are practically nothing at the moment – not that I don't see them as people, unlike what others might – but they slink away to observe our exchange rather than get between is.

Tiberion waves at myself and Sierra, smiles once more, and draws away Aliset back into their conversation. Me and Sierra resume talking, about this and that, anything and everything that comes to my head. It might not be smart of me to engage to this level with someone that I know is in my way. When it's boiled down, stripped away who we want to be, the real reason we're here is to win.

Only one winner.

Sierra is a nice girl, but she has a reputation as well. I know she's not to cross. Maybe I'm being smarter than I give myself credit for. Maybe by befriending possibly the biggest threat this year, I'm giving myself a stronger chance over the pair from One. Two people who can't build the very bridges that could save them.

There are two tactics to this. Two equally as strong, but two that are complete opposites. Reign distances himself. I attach myself. When it comes down to it, we'll see which takes the crown once the gong sounds and the Games begin.

Sierra closes her eyes for a second, an action I don't miss. She blinks and straightens her shoulders, noticing my eyes are on her. She smiles again and touches my arm. "I think we stand a good chance of impressing them, Julius. We can do Two proud."

"Yeah," I nod, swallowing a lump in my throat. _Two, my home. The reason I'm here and the very place I want to forget. _"I think they'll be proud to call us their tributes."

"I think we stand a good chance – our alliance. It seems strong at least. Strength is important."

I don't doubt how strong she is, looking her over. But so am I. Physically I know why I'm here, I'm prepared, I know what I have inside of me, what I've nurtured and can bring to the forefront of myself in the Games.

But mentally I'm also prepared. To attach myself to the people that can bring me places, and hopefully when the time is right, detach myself in the same way the pair from One are already doing.

I simply need the sense of normalcy, right now. It calms me. It reminds me I'm not changing – not yet. My family was a minefield, every step I took a possible detonation into oblivion. It could have become everything I didn't want it to be. But I had my friends.

I had people amongst the ruin that I do care about.

They're the people that will keep me grounded and rooted to who I am. I can smile and laugh and be a good friend despite being a Career. I can be a Victor, a killer and a tribute without having to lose what makes me me.

I think Sierra understands that.

We continue to talk, waiting. With every word, every second, we're forging something strong. Something that will grow through the Capitol and into the Games.

We all have our strategies. This is mine.

I'll do whatever I have to.

Whatever it takes.

Friend or foe.

Nothing matters but me, in the end. That's all that counts.

* * *

><p><strong>Wyatt Lane, 17 years old;<br>District Seven Male;  
>jakey121.<strong>

* * *

><p>"Don't be an idiot."<p>

Rebekah's glare is hot on the side of my face. I turn to look at her and raise an eyebrow. Ever since we got onto the train – hell, even on the stage back in Seven – she's had a problem with me. The challenge is fun.

I humour her, though. If only for the pre-Games entertainment.

"You shouldn't insult me all the time. Someone might perceive it as hurtful."

"I don't intend to hurt your feelings. If you have any." She ruffles one of the leaves on her shoulders, curled at the edges. A band of plastic thorns has been threaded through my hair, wrapped tight round my forehead.

We're meant to be the King and Queen of all that's natural in our world. It's childish. Immature. Fun.

"It might be hard to see under all this, but I'm just like you. Version two, maybe. A polished version."

"Your arrogance in yourself will only get you killed. If your intended allies don't get there first." Her finger points down the line of Chariots, way at the front where the real threats of the Games lie. I refuse to be intimidated by a bunch of thugs – if there's one thing I've learnt, growing up where I grew up, living as who I am, nurturing my strengths and disbelieving my weaknesses, it was how to avoid falling lower on the food chain.

This is a grander version of where I used to be. Where the stakes are higher. Adrenaline skyrocketing. Another branch of the fun, another branch Rebekah can't handle, I'm sure.

"I don't intend on anything. Allying with people who I think are overrated has never crossed my mind. Since you keep your cards close to your chest and don't intend on smiling for anything," I pause, watching her wrinkle her nose, smirking at the crease in her brow. The anger practically has its own distinctive stench, "I plan on finding someone easier to control. Easier to handle when the time comes."

"A lapdog."

"Lapdogs. Plural."

She waves me off, glancing over the side. Conversation over, no doubt. I take it in my stride and take a moment to let my eyes hover on the Chariot in front of me. The tributes are more or less like me and Rebekah – the girl lost in her anger, the boy trying hard to get through an impervious barrier.

Maybe he'd do.

He seems kind. He seems _easy._

I pick off a berry round my wrist, attached to one of the branches. It's squishy, probably fake, but it looks tempting either way. Looking at Rebekah, who I can tell is fighting the urge to give in and watch, I laugh and throw it at the back of his head.

Perfect shot. It pings off his hair and rolls underneath the shadow of the horse guiding our Chariot. He rubs the back of his head and turns to face me, offering a confused frown, then a small, lopsided grin. Cute, even. Cute in an ally will work for me – I've pushed around plenty of people in my time, I've had my fair share of indulgence, been the person at the forefront of everything.

No one can criticize me for having a lack of control.

Not that they should criticize me for anything – I doubt there's much to point out.

I gesture with my finger between the two of us, offering him a thumb's up. His District partner takes one look over her shoulder and rolls her eyes, looking at the boy and then back at me.

"We're not a thousand feet away. Speak. Use your words." She then turns back, smirking, and like Rebekah, resuming her angsty, self-absorbed, don't-talk-to-me pissed off aura.

"I don't mean to be rude," I offer with a sheepish grin. I can be humble if I need to be. I can indulge eithers with what they need, knowing I'll get so much more in return when the time comes. "I'm Wyatt. Wyatt Lane. From the land of trees and berries."

I gesture down to my outfit with a chuckle. He mirrors it and offers me a small wave. "Oscaron. Call me Oscar. District Six."

"Nice to meet you Oscar."

"You too Wyatt."

Before I can open my mouth to say something again, there's a loud voice coming from the front. Not one of the tributes – a Capitol official, waving his hands and shooing away an overeager stylist still prepping one of the girls near the head of the line.

"Did you want something? Sorry, don't mean to rush. I think we're about to get started."

I open my mouth, then close it, feigning a lack of confidence in my proposal. It's quite endearing I've been told, to see a sense of weakness in other people, a sense of restraint. I find it disgusting, but then again, other people like Oscar aren't me.

They epitomize weak. After all, it's why I want him as my ally.

"It might not be what you're looking for. I mean its early days. But we don't really have many days to waste," I laugh awkwardly, bringing a hand behind my head and round my neck. "I was going to propose maybe an alliance, but if you don't-"

"No," he jumps at the prospect eagerly, the girl grunting from beside him. Maybe she'd get along with Rebekah. I'd introduce them if they weren't both a pain in my ass. "I'd like that. You seem nice."

"You too."

"We'll make it official tomorrow. See you then." I give him another wave, one to which he replies in earnest, and back to the front he faces.

I sense Rebekah's eagerness to say something. The way she looks at me, then lowers her eyes. It's annoying when people don't take the opportunity to grasp what they want. I didn't volunteer to die – that's why I'm not going to be with the thugs at the front of this line. They're easy access to survival, only for me to perish at a later hurdle.

No, that's not my prize. My way in is to secure an alliance that can support me, but will be easy to dispose of when that time comes. Or, if luck goes my way, will die one by one without my input. I don't plan on Oscar getting into my good books, but I do plan on getting into his.

It's my strategy. A strategy for the future Victor.

"Say it," I bump her shoulder with my own.

She bites her lip, then opens her mouth, without holding back this time. "You're an awful person."

I laugh again, fixing the broken branch on my shoulder. "Bad people win in life. It's a fact I've grown awfully fond of."

"You don't think you're bad. You think you're everything that's right with this world." She bristles, turning to face me with cheeks flushed red. "I have a fact for you. You're not. You're everything that's wrong. Don't speak to me anymore. We're done."

"I won't refuse a pretty lady."

I look again at the front and relax my shoulders, readying myself for the parade.

I am right about who wins. Rebekah's wrong about my perception of myself.

I think it's good to be bad. Bad to be good. I get places in life, people like her don't. It's the way it goes, the way my future will go, and I intend on having a future that stretches much further than these Games.

I plan on living.

One thing I love about myself: my plans never fail.

* * *

><p><strong>Asher Challier, 16 years old;<br>District Eight Male;  
>Cashmere67.<strong>

* * *

><p>"You'll do great, Asher."<p>

"You too, Ilise."

"They're going to love us."

"They have to. I mean, look at us!" I say, swinging out my arms wide-open. The fabric drapes underneath my arm, the tassels on the ends of it lightly swaying side-to-side. Ilise giggles, opening her arms too, shimmying as we watch each other's costume look even more ridiculous. "I _still _don't know what we're supposed to look like."

Before Ilise can reply, the chariot jerks forward, and I grip onto the railing, my eyes widening as I watch the large gate doors open all the way in front of us. From all the way back here, I can hear the screams and shouts of the Capitol citizens. They're whistling, clapping, and stomping their hands and feet. When the gate fully opens, the whole garage lights up, and I look around, beginning to feel antsy.

I want to get out there already.

I want to see it all.

The chariot begins to move forwards slowly, and District One is the first District to proceed outside. Both of the tributes are stiff with their movements, the girl only waving, but it doesn't seem enthusiastic. The boy doesn't move much, either.

They just seem stale.

They're followed by District Two, who in comparison, are much more outgoing. They're both dressed in grey clothing, with the girl in a short dress and the boy in a suit. I can see some dust of sorts patted down on their necks too. They remain composed, only waving as they turn their head from side-to-side. I expect more from them, and as their chariot travels down the large road, the Capitol people seem to love it, anyway.

Grinning, I turn to Ilise who's already staring ahead. She's still gripping onto the chariot, and it jerks forward a little more, and ahead of us, District Three exits. Timidly, the boy waves, and the girl besides him perks up as she notices him moving. She attempts to wave, but she pins her arms to her side, shaking her head. The girl from Three tugs at the back of her costume, tearing one of the wires off and letting it dangle to the side.

At least the boy is giving an effort. She's just standing there.

_Come on, people._

_At least try._

When District Four exits the garage, they seem to captivate the spectators the most. The girl seems to be fully immersing herself in the cheers and whistling, nearly leaning over the edge as she waves and blows kisses. She has starfish entangled in her hair, with nets dropping down from her shoulders, almost like a cape. The boy stands there, all broad-shouldered, only moving side-to-side to avoid the girl's movements. He waves, though, and holds his head up high.

The Capitol seems to love them.

_I hope they love me._

Our chariot moves forward some more, and as we near the exit, I begin to feel antsy. I grin again, feeling the corners of my mouth beginning to hurt. Ilise is smiling, too, both of us getting ready for _our _grand appearance. If they were clapping and screaming for the tributes from One and Three, who really didn't do much, they'll love us. They have to.

From District Five, the boy stands up straight, waving confidently. The girl besides him is much smaller in comparison, but she holds her own, waving and standing up on her tippy-toes. She pushes her hair off of her shoulder, letting it drape down her back, revealing some of her costume. She's wearing a one strap of sorts, with silver plates on it.

So far, we definitely look the most foolish.

Maybe the Capitol will like that, though. I hope they do.

When District Six exits the garage, though, there's a shift in demeanor in the tributes. The girl remains still, not waving or even turning her head. She stares forward, her arms crossed, completely unfazed by her surroundings. The boy, however, at least attempts to wave, but when you look at his partner, it detracts from his efforts.

How could people throw their chances away like that already?

This is when the Capitol first sees us. This is their first impressions.

Our chariot is nearly at the front, and as District Seven exits, I begin to shake, grinning. The District Seven tributes are dressed in a nature-type outfit, with branches arranged on their bodies, plus some berries and leaves scattered all over. The boy seems to be enjoying the Capitol so far, with his waving and whatnot. The girl seems to be more reserved, keeping her arms to her side and simply shifting her body position to face both sides of the audience.

Finally, our chariot reaches the exit, and instantly, my ears begin to ring from the screaming, shouting, and whistling. It's all so loud, and when I look up, I smile immediately.

_This is for us._

_This is for Ilise and I._

The chariot continues down the road, and I wave enthusiastically, still smiling and opening my mouth wide as each new sight takes me by surprise. Ilise does the same, nearly jumping up and down to attract as much attention as she can. We wave and wave, and when we near the rest of the tributes, I see that they're starting to form a semi-circle around an elevated platform of sorts.

The other chariots are following behind ours, and I turn around, still smiling and waving. I stare out at the audience, their brightly colored outfits and hair making my eyes widen. Back in District Eight, you never saw anything like this. Life there was simple. It was boring.

But, here… It's new. It's different.

One by one, the remaining chariots make their way down the road, all joining at the end of the semi-circle. I look up at the platform, watching the doors open, and I smile some more, feeling ecstatic. I love this – whatever this is considered. The attention. The costume. The people.

I love _this_.

_It makes me happy._

I was always the happy kid. The optimist. The exuberant one. The peppy one.

I'll always be that kid.

_Nothing can change that._

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry for the late update. No reason other than we just weren't feeling up to writing until recently. Can't promise the next update on time, but neither will it be too late. We'll see!<strong>

**Up next, training starts!**


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